Page 48 of The Reckoning
“Drive,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just get us out of here.”
Arson complies without comment, the engine purring to life as we pull away from the house that has never felt like home. My hands are shaking now, the adrenaline crash leaving me jittery and hollow.
“A week,” I say once we’re through the gates, heading back toward the city. “We have a week to figure out what they’re planning.”
“What they’re planning is to use you as some kind of medical experiment,” Arson says, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “The question is why? What’s so special about you that they need this ‘procedure’ now, after all these years of just monitoring and medicating you?”
That question has been circling in my mind since Dr. Winters mentioned donors. What could they possibly want from me that would involve so much money that they need donations?
“I don’t know,” I admit, staring out the window at the passing scenery without really seeing it. “But it has to be connected to whatever’s in those files I found. To the Facility where they kept you.”
Arson is quiet for a moment, considering. Then he asks the question that brings everything to a halt. “What about your father?”
“My father?” I turn to look at him, caught off guard by the sudden change in direction. “What about him?”
“You never mention him,” Arson says, eyes still on the road. “He’s not in the picture, obviously. But why? What happened to him?”
I bite my lip, sorting through the carefully curated story I’ve been told my entire life. “He and my mother divorced when I was very young. My condition was too much for him to handle,apparently. He couldn’t deal with having a sick child. At least, that’s what Mother always told me.”
“And you believe that?”
The question hovers between us, challenging years of accepted narrative.
“I used to,” I say slowly. “But now… I don’t know what to believe anymore. Everything I thought I knew about my life seems to be built on lies.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
I shake my head, trying to recall a face that’s nothing more than a vague impression in my earliest memories. “I was maybe three or four? I barely remember him. Mother has kept all photos of him packed away. Said it was too painful to look at them.”
“Convenient,” Arson mutters, a muscle working in his jaw. “And his name?”
“David Harlowe,” I reply automatically. “Why all these questions about my father?”
Arson’s expression is unreadable, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Because parents are where secrets begin, especially in families like ours. Whatever’s happening now, whatever they’re planning to do to you—I’d bet anything it connects back to him somehow.”
The suggestion sends a ripple of unease through me. I’ve spent so long accepting my father’s absence as a simple fact of life that I’ve never really questioned it, never dug into the circumstances of his departure.
“You think he knows something? That he could help us?”
“I think,” Arson says carefully, “that there’s a reason you don’t know anything about him. A reason your mother has kept him shrouded in mystery all these years. And secrets like that usually exist to protect something important.”
He’s right, of course. In a life built on lies, the biggest omissions often hide the most significant truths.
“We need to find him,” I say, a new determination taking root alongside the fear and betrayal. “If he knows anything about my condition, about what Mother and Dr. Winters are planning...”
“One step at a time,” Arson cautions, though I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “First, we need to regroup with Aries and figure out our next move.”
I nod, settling back into my seat as the city skyline appears on the horizon. A week. Seven days to unravel a lifetime of lies. To find a father who’s been nothing but a ghost in my life. To discover what makes me valuable enough that my mother would secure legal control over my body.
“What are you thinking?” Arson asks, glancing at me briefly before returning his attention to the road.
“I’m thinking,” I say slowly, “that I’m tired of being a pawn in everyone else’s game. It’s time I started playing by my own rules.”
A small, approving smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Now you’re talking like a Hayes.”
“No,” I correct him, something fierce and unfamiliar rising in my chest. “I’m talking like me. Like Lilian. And it’s about time everyone heard what I have to say.”
The sun dips lower on the horizon as we drive, casting the world in shades of gold and shadow. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger, and the daunting task of uncovering truths long buried. But for the first time in my life, I’m not facing it as the fragile girl everyone has always believed me to be.
