I killed her father before she was born.
The room seems to tilt around me. I grip the arms of my chair, fighting for equilibrium, for the control that's always come so easily.
"Gabriel." Bryan's voice cuts through the roaring in my ears. "I can see this is... unexpected."
"Unexpected." I laugh, and the sound is harsh, almost unhinged. "That's one word for it."
"I tried to warn you. Some truths change everything."
"You could have told me years ago. You could have—"
"Told you what? That the man you killed had a pregnant girlfriend who ran? What purpose would that have served?" Bryan shakes his head. "You were sixteen, Gabriel. You'd justcommitted your first murder. Your father and I agreed that you didn't need additional complications."
"So you let me live in ignorance. Let me stumble into a relationship with his daughter without any idea—"
"We didn'tletyou do anything. We didn't know who Poppy Rivers was until very recently. The connection only became clear when Zachary started digging." Bryan leans forward, his expression intent. "That's what you need to focus on now. Not the past, but the present. Zachary knows this truth, and he's planning to use it against you."
Zach. Of course. This is what he's been building toward—the weapon he's been forging in secret. He's going to tell Poppy that I killed her father. He's going to turn her against me with a truth I didn't even know existed.
"Has he contacted her?" Bryan asks. "Has he had the opportunity to—"
"I don't know." The admission burns. "She's been... distant lately. Keeping secrets. I thought—"
I stop. I thought she was just adjusting to life at the estate. I thought she was overwhelmed, stressed, perhaps regretting her decision to stay. But what if it's more than that? What if Zach has already gotten to her?
What if she already knows?
"You need to tell her," Bryan says quietly. "Before Zachary does, if he hasn't already. She needs to hear it from you."
"And say what? 'I killed your father, but don't worry, he was a monster'? 'The first man I ever murdered was the man who gave you half your DNA'?" I shake my head. "There's no way to make this palatable."
"No. There isn't. But there's a difference between hearing a hard truth from someone who cares about you and hearing it from someone who wants to destroy you." Bryan rises, signaling that the conversation is nearing its end. "Tell her, Gabriel. Tell her before Zachary poisons her against you completely."
I stand as well, my mind still reeling, my body moving on autopilot. Bryan walks me to the door, his hand on my shoulder in a gesture that might be comforting if I could feel anything besides the cold dread spreading through my chest.
"Your father would be proud of you," he says at the threshold. "Whatever happens next, remember that. You've built something remarkable. Don't let Zachary Mercer tear it down."
I nod without really hearing him. I'm already thinking about Poppy—about her pale face this morning, her evasive answers, the secrets I could see swimming behind her eyes.
Does she know? Has Zach already told her?
And if he has, why is she still in my bed?
The drive home takes an hour, but I barely register the passing miles. My hands grip the steering wheel, my eyes fixed on the road, but my mind is elsewhere—trapped in a loop of memories and revelations that refuse to coalesce into anything coherent.
Dwayne Thomas.
I can still see his face. Still feel the texture of his throat under my hands. Still hear the gurgling sounds he made as his airway closed.
He deserved to die. I've never doubted that. The things he did to me, to other students—the way he used his position, his Brotherhood connections, his carefully cultivated charm to destroy boys who had no one to protect them. The mind games,the isolation, the systematic cruelty that left no visible marks but scarred us all the same.
I was one of those boys. For two years, I was his favorite victim. His masterpiece of destruction.
Until I stopped being prey and became a predator.
My father found me afterward, standing over the body with blood under my fingernails and rage still burning in my chest. I expected punishment. Expected horror. Expected to be cast out, abandoned, destroyed.
Instead, he smiled. Clapped me on the shoulder. Told me I'd proven myself worthy of the Ambrose name.
