Page 83 of Bloom in Darkness

Astra turns toward Lorcan, his fingers still resting on the statement. “But?”

Lorcan glances toward Forrest, leaving my brother to answer.

“You owe something,” Forrest says. “But you don’t owe eighty-seven thousand eight hundred and twelve dollars.”

Astra doesn’t move at first, the room going so quiet I hear someone close a cabinet somewhere down the hall. When he finally looks up, he seems almost more confused than relieved. “What?”

Forrest doesn’t soften it. “The original debt was real. Some of the later advances were real. But the balance she gave you is padded to hell.”

Astra keeps staring at the statement for another minute before picking up the pencil again and adding a second set of horns to Forrest while Lorcan sorts the next stack of statements. Bryn notices before Forrest does and slides the sketchbook across the table.

Forrest looks down at his portrait. “Why do I have horns?”

Astra shrugs, reaching for his coffee. “Felt right.”

My laugh catches painfully in my knee, and my hand drops beneath the table before I think about it. Astra notices immediately, reaching over to press his palm above my kneecap.

“You’re doing the thing.”

I cover his hand with mine. “What thing?”

“Pretending your knee doesn’t hurt because you think nobody notices.” His thumb starts working slow circles through my trousers while Forrest, without even looking up from the statements, informs him that I’ve apparently been doing it forever.

I give my brother a look across the table, which he ignores.

Lorcan separates the papers into three piles, tapping each one as he explains what’s documented, what still needs records, and what concerns him enough that he doesn’t want Astra agreeing to anything yet.

Astra looks at the thickest pile. “Can she just refuse to give you anything?”

Forrest pulls it closer. “She can try.”

Bryn’s attention sharpens immediately, which Astra catches without even turning all the way toward him. “Let Lorcan handle it.”

Bryn picks up his coffee without promising anything, and Forrest keeps going, tapping the list in front of him. “We start politely with a formal records request—accounting history, contracts, supporting invoices. If she refuses, Lorcan escalates.”

Astra rests his forearm on the table. “And if she starts adding more charges?”

Forrest adds another note to the legal pad. “We document those too.”

Astra’s thumb slows against my knee when the conversation shifts away from the statements. “What about Rourke?”

Forrest sets down the paper he’s holding. “The texts matter. Keep everything. Don’t respond unless there’s a reason.”

Astra turns toward Bryn. “Does Rourke know where I live?”

Bryn sets his coffee down. “No evidence of that yet. Silas does.”

Bryn’s fingers tighten around the mug, and I put my hand on his forearm before the tension can travel any farther up his arm.

Forrest addresses Astra directly. “Sabine is a paperwork problem. Rourke and Silas are an access problem. We handle them differently.”

Astra looks at the three piles Lorcan made. A few days ago, Sabine’s number was the only answer he had. Now half the table is covered in copies, flagged charges, and people willing to question every line.

He closes the sketchbook and reaches for his plate. “So I’m not almost-ninety-thousand-dollars fucked.”

Forrest takes a drink of coffee. “Not financially.”

I choke on mine while Bryn laughs beside me, the tension around the table finally breaking enough that Astra starts eating again while Lorcan finishes his list. By the time we leave, he has a folder full of copies, three new drawings, and a list of exactly what Lorcan still needs. He also has half a sandwich wrapped in foil because Bryn decided he might get hungry during the drive home.