43. CHAPTER 43 #3
And then—shockingly—my father inclined his head. Not much. But enough. “You protect her, that —I respect, never stop.”
I blinked, my throat thick. I never thought I’d hear that from him.
My father’s attention slid back to me, his voice dropping lower. “I saw the letters. You’ve read them. I know.”
The floor tilted under me. My mouth went dry.
He nodded once, deliberate. “I swear to you, Auri—I had no part in your mother’s death. But yes… she was murdered. And I will avenge it. I have sworn as much.”
My chest tightened. My breath caught like a sob I refused to let free.
“Your mother and I once loved each other, but we weren’t meant for each other. We stayed together, but not truly. Only for you. But I did care for her. And I will not let her killer walk free.”
The room spun, my mind reeling. For the first time in years, I didn’t know what to say to him. Zane’s hand tightened around mine under the table, grounding me as the silence stretched.
For the first time, my father gave me something I never expected. Not control. Not commands. Only the truth.
He stood up, nodded to us, and walked out.
The door shut behind us with a thud that rattled through my bones. I couldn’t move for a long moment. My legs felt rooted to the floor, my lungs too tight for air.
Zane’s hand stayed on mine, firm, grounding. “Auri— ”
“He knew,” I whispered, my voice raw. “He saw the letters. He knew I read them.” My throat closed around the words. “And he confirmed it. She didn’t just die. She was murdered.”
Zane’s eyes softened, though his jaw stayed tight. “You’ve always known it in your gut. He only gave a voice to what you already felt.”
“That doesn’t make it easier,” I shot back, tears stinging my eyes. I dragged my sleeve across them before they could fall. “I wanted him to deny it, Zane. I wanted him to say I was wrong, that I made it up, that she—” My voice broke. “But he didn’t.”
Zane didn’t argue. He only pulled me in, his arm strong around my shoulders, letting me press my face to his chest until my breaths eased.
When I finally straightened, his eyes searched mine. “You heard the other part, too. He’s vowing to avenge her. Whatever else he is… that promise, I believe.”
I nodded faintly, though my insides still twisted. “Believing him doesn’t mean trusting him.”
Zane’s mouth ticked up at the corner. “Good. Don’t trust him. But take the truth where you can.”
We walked in silence until the heavy doors opened to the winter air. Voices drifted from the courtyard below—cadets murmuring, restless, boots crunching on stone.
And there he was.
My father stood in the center of the first-year Riders, towering in his immaculate uniform, every line of his posture commanding. His eyes swept the crowd as he clasped shoulders and gripped forearms, pulling cadets in with the false warmth of a commander welcoming his troop.
As soon as Lili and Alex locked eyes with me, they headed towards Zane and me. Their eyes said exactly why they were coming. They were disappointed and had questions. Lili grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to the wall. Zane and Alex followed suit.
“Why the fuck didn’t you ever tell us about that little fucking gift your father has?” Lili said. Her voice was low and seething. Her cheeks were rosy colored, her eyes flaring at me .
“I couldn’t.” My eyes dropped to the ground. I felt like I betrayed them.
“You’re our best friend…” Alex said.
“Yes, and he is my father. As you saw by his little party trick, he would know if I told you.”
“You could have told us without telling us,” Lili said.
“If it makes either of you feel better, she also did not disclose this to me,” Zane said.
“No, actually it doesn’t, but I am not surprised, we dated for years. Clearly, I was clueless.” Alex said.
“It is a classified ability. Could. Not. Tell. You. Now you know.”
“After he dug through my head,” Alex said.
“She is right, though. She really couldn’t tell you. Just as you guys aren’t allowed to share that with anyone else,” Zane said.
All four of us turned to focus on my father as he went around the courtyard talking with other cadets. A few looked proud, straightening under his attention. Most looked nervous, glancing away as soon as his hand touched them, as if they sensed the same chill I did.
Esme stirred faintly in my chest, her rumble curling with sharp amusement. “Your father plays with kindness, but every touch is a blade. They don’t know he’s cutting through their thoughts even as he smiles.”
My stomach turned as I watched him lean close to a boy from Dragon Wing, clapping him on the back as if he were proud. To everyone else, it looked like encouragement. But I knew better.
Zane’s hand brushed mine again, his voice steady through the bond. “We’ll keep our walls up. Together. He won’t take more than we allow.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. But the truth hung heavy in my chest as we stepped into the crowd. My father didn’t just mingle with the first-years. He dissected them. From the courtyard’s edge, I tried to blend in, but my eyes never left him.
My father moved slowly through the first-years.
His presence unsettled the cadets. He clasped forearms, pulled cadets briefly into embraces—a firm hand on a shoulder, a measured pat on the back.
To onlookers, it seemed like encouragement, pride.
But I knew every touch was a blade. Every smile, a mask.
Cadets straightened under his attention—some hid nerves, some faked approval, some masked dislike. They had no idea what happened to them, what he scraped from their minds as his pale eyes flicked, narrowed, and released.
I crossed my arms, forcing my expression neutral, my stomach twisting tighter with every handshake.
Esme hummed faintly against the bond. “They line up for him like sheep for shearing. None of them even sensed the blade.”
When he finished with the last cadet, he lingered a moment longer in the circle, his gaze sweeping over them. Then, as if nothing had happened, he glanced to Major General Kamban, who waited with the other officers. My father gave him a subtle nod—barely there.
But I caught it.
So had Kamban.
His jaw eased, his arms loosening behind his back.
A silent exchange, but clear as spoken words.
Not this group. My father casually joined Kamban, and they walked off.
Relief rippled through the first-years, though they didn’t know why.
Some began to whisper to each other, the tension breaking.
A few even smiled, thinking they’d just been inspected and found worthy.
I stayed silent, my pulse still heavy in my throat. Because I knew better, it wasn’t mercy. It was a violation.
He would sift through them all, sooner or later.
And when he finished, there would be no secrets left at all. None of them knew they should shield their minds.