Page 35 of Silent Oaths
“Well, that explains why they’re loaded,”Maxwellquips.
“Keepreading,”IurgeJulian.
Julianflips through the book until he stops at a faded photograph.Theimage shows a group of men and women inVictorianattire, standing in front of an elaborate mansion.
“Here,”Juliansays, pointing. “Theseare theWhitmores.”
Ilean over to get a better look, my eyes scanning the faces in the photograph.
“Whois he?”Iask.
Julianscans the caption beneath the photo. “EliasAddington.Hewas from theAddingtonfamily—one of theotherfounding families ofEbonridge.”
“Noneof this explains why theWhitmoressuddenly want to adopt me.”
Juliancloses the book, his expression thoughtful.
Maxwellclaps a hand on my shoulder. “Guessyou’re special,Theo.”
Ishrug him off, my jaw tightening. “Thisisn’t funny,Max.”
“WhosaidIwas joking?Look, whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.You’renot going through it alone.”
Juliannods in agreement.
* * *
Hourspassin a haze of tension.
Aknock at my door breaks the silence.FatherGraysteps in, his eyes settling on me. “Theodore, it’s time.”
AsIfollow him down the hall, my heartbeat quickens with every step.Whenwe pass the library doors,Icatch a glimpse of the other boys milling about, laughing and shoving at each other like it’s just another day.Butfor me, nothing feels the same.
Whenwe reachFatherCalloway’soffice, the door opens, andJuliansteps out, his dark eyes blazing with anger.
Ourgazes lock, andIalmost ask him what happened, but he brushes past me without a word.
Assoon asIstep inside, the atmosphere shifts.
FatherCallowaystands behind his desk, a polite but strained smile on his face.Sittingin the chairs opposite him are a man and a woman who look like they’ve stepped out of a painting.
Theman exudes authority.Hissalt and pepper hair is slicked back, and his tailored suit fits like it was made for him.
Thewoman beside him is just as striking.Herblonde hair is pinned back in a way that’s both elegant and severe, and her deep burgundy dress looks expensive enough to feed every boy in this orphanage for a year.Sheassesses me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“Theodore, this isMr.LionelWhitmoreand his wife,Margaret.”
Istraighten my shoulders, refusing to let them see any nerves.
Lionelstands, extending his hand.Hisgrip is firm, his eyes boring into mine.
Margaretstays seated, offering a thin smile. “We’veheard a lot about you,Theodore.”
Iglance atFatherCalloway, whose expression gives nothing away. “Goodthings,Ihope.”
Lionelsmiles. “Verygood things.You’vemade quite an impression here.”
Idon’t know how to reply, soInod, keeping my face neutral.
