his jaw clenched against pain while I stood facing the door, listening for footsteps. When he was ready, he refused the wheelchair.
They will hear it on the old floors, he said.
You cannot walk that far.
No. But I can lean.
So he leaned on me.
The first step nearly took us both down. His body was heavier than I expected, his strength uneven, his legs unreliable but not dead. Sweat gathered at his hairline. Every few feet he had to stop and lock his jaw until the pain passed.
I wanted to ask how long he had been practicing in secret. I wanted to ask how many nights he had fallen alone. There was no time.
Elsie led us through the servants’ corridor to a laundry room, then out through a side door into the storm.
Rain hit us like thrown gravel.
Blackthorn House rose behind us, lit window by lit window, the wedding tents snapping on the lawn like ghosts. Julian’s arm tightened across my shoulders.
Keep going, he said.
That was when the alarms started.
Not loud sirens. Lights. Security beams snapping on across the grounds. Men shouting near the stable. A dog barking.
Elsie cursed under her breath.
They know.
We moved faster. Julian stumbled once, and I caught him around the waist. This time he did not apologize for needing help. I did not resent giving it.
Halfway to the boathouse, a figure stepped from beneath the hedge.
Celeste.
Her hair was covered by a black scarf. Rain shone on her face.
Livia, she said. Stop this nonsense.
I held Julian upright and stared at the woman who had stolen my mother’s place, my father’s courage, and nearly my life.
Were you on the yacht? I asked.
Her expression changed so quickly anyone else might have missed it.
Julian did not.
He lifted his head. You.
Celeste looked at him, and for the first time, I heard real emotion in her voice.
Your father should have left it alone.
Julian went still.
My father trusted you?
She laughed, but it broke in the middle. Your father used people like me and called it charm. Malcolm understood that everyone has a price.
Including you? I asked.
Especially me.
Behind her, Malcolm’s voice cut through the rain.
Enough.
He came down the path with two guards and Vivian behind him. My father was not there. I clung to that fact because it meant there was still a chance.
Malcolm carried Julian’s wheelchair as if presenting evidence.
This has gone far enough, he said. Julian is ill. His wife is confused. Bring them inside.
No one moved.
Maybe because Julian, pale and shaking, took one step away from me.
Then another.
He stood on the wet gravel, alone, trembling but upright.
The guards stared.
Vivian made a small strangled sound.
Malcolm’s face hardened.
Sit down, Julian.
Julian’s hand shook at his side. I spent four years sitting because you were afraid of what I remembered.
You remember pain and smoke.
I remember my father saying your name.
The rain seemed to hush around us.
Malcolm stepped closer. You cannot prove anything.
I pulled the recorder from my pocket.
His eyes flicked to it.
For one second, that was enough proof for me.
Then Celeste lunged.
Not at
