Page 63 of The Reckoning
“It means we need to move faster. Figure out what your mother is planning before she can implement it. Or take both her and Richard down and hope the backers leave us alone after that.” He glances between us, something like disgust flashing across his features. “If you two can tear yourselves away from this little therapy session, that is.”
“Arson,” I say, not hiding the plea in my voice. “Come on. This isn’t helping anyone.”
For a moment, I think he might relent, might set aside the antagonism long enough for us to work together. Then his expression hardens again, walls slamming back into place.
“Meet me in the main room when you’re done playing confessor,” he says, turning to leave. “Some of us are actually trying to solve this mess.”
He stalks away, footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving a chill in his wake.
Aries watches him go, then turns to me with a resigned expression. “He’s right about one thing. We do need to focus on what’s happening now, not on the past.”
“The past is part of what’s happening now,” I counter. “It’s all connected somehow—the boathouse, my mother, the backers, all of it.”
“Maybe.” He runs a hand through his hair again, composure gradually returning. “But right now, we need information more than we need reconciliation.”
Before I can respond, he’s moving toward the door, away from the moment we’d shared. “I’m going to check somecontacts, see if I can find out anything about what Patricia might be planning.”
“Aries—”
“It’s okay, Lilian,” he says, pausing in the doorway. “Really. I just... need some time to process everything. To figure out what to do with it all.”
I want to argue, to insist that we finish the conversation, but I recognize the need for space when I see it. “Okay. But we’re not done talking about this.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “No, I don’t suppose we are.”
Then he’s gone, too, leaving me alone in the empty room. The irony doesn’t escape me—he sought it out for solitude, and now I’m the one left here, alone with my thoughts.
I sink back into the chair, suddenly exhausted by the emotional whiplash of the past few hours. The revelations about the boathouse, Aries’s guilt, Arson’s rage, the complicated tangle of feelings between all of us—it’s a lot to process.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me. The screen shows an unknown number, and for a moment, I consider ignoring it. But curiosity wins out.
“Hello?”
“Miss Hayes.” The voice is smooth, cultured, vaguely familiar—the older of the two men who took me, who funded Arson’s revenge. My pulse spikes with fear, but I force myself to keep it together.
“What do you want?” I ask, surprised by how steady I sound.
“To help you, believe it or not.” He sounds almost amused. “You’re running out of time and spinning your wheels rather…inefficiently.”
“Why would you help us?” I don’t bother hiding my suspicion. “When you went through so much to kidnap me before? Didn’t you just contact Arson, too? Hedging your bets?”
“A necessary complication,” he says dismissively. “But one that’s become a distraction from our primary objectives. Best to resolve it quickly so we can return to the original plan.”
Something about his voice niggles at me, some familiarity I can’t quite place. Like I’ve heard it before, long ago.
“What do you suggest, then?” I ask, playing along while trying to place the voice.
“Your father’s will,” he says simply. “I suggest you look into the specifics of your father’s will. The original document, not the summary your mother provided when you turned eighteen. Since it seems you didn’t read the paperwork thoroughly.”
My breath catches. “How do you know about that?”
“I make it my business to know things, Miss Hayes. Especially things people would prefer to keep hidden.”
A chill runs down my spine despite the blandness of his tone. “Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?”
“As I said, this is a distraction from our main purpose. The sooner it’s resolved, the sooner we can proceed with what really matters.” He pauses, and I can almost hear the calculating smile in his voice. “Consider it a professional courtesy.”
“Professional courtesy,” I repeat, not bothering to hide my disbelief. “From the people who kidnapped me and threatened me.”
