47
“Dad?” I ask as his eyes widen. He quickly brushes past me, entering the elevator I just vacated. “Dad!”
He furiously presses the button to close the doors, but I jam my body into the opening. “Dad! Stop it!”
His face hardens, and his shoulders drop. “Hello, Poet.”
“Hello? Hello!? You just tried to ditch me! I’ve been messaging you for weeks! I need to talk to you.”
“This isn’t a good time,” he says as the elevator doors bounce open and then try to close on me again.
“I really don’t care,” I say. “We can do this here in the lobby, or we can go somewhere private, but you’re talking to me this instant.”
He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Fine. Not here.” The doors slide open again, and he shuffles past me back into the lobby. “Follow me.”
I do as he asks, and he stops at the front desk, handing over his briefcase, phone, and watch to Cyril. “Keep an eye on these for me, will you?” he asks.
“Sure thing,” Cyril says affably.
Then he gestures to me. “You, too.”
It takes me a moment to understand, but I left everything behind at Amery.
“I don’t have my phone,” I say, and my father’s eyes narrow. With good reason. No one ever leaves their devices behind.
“Let’s go,” my father says, clearly deciding it’s not worth commenting on, and then we head outside. I glance past the building to spot Rook, where he’s waiting for me. He pushes himself from the wall, his brow furrowing when he catches sight of my father.
I offer him a quick wave, indicating that I’m fine and he should stay back.
Then I follow Grady Graves.
We make our way down to the central canal and walk along the path for a few minutes. Finally, we stop at a bench, and my father gestures for me to take a seat.
He settles beside me, and we both stare at the water for a minute, watching the occasional boat putter past. A few pedestrians stroll by, nodding hellos.
“What are we doing out here?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
“They’re listening to everything. You know that.”
Of course I know that.
“Dad,” I say, and he sighs, drops his head, and clasps his hands.
“I know I owe you some answers,” he says. “I’m just not sure where to begin.”
“Then I’ll start. How did you know?” I ask. “About Raine and me?”
“Your brother told me. When he accidentally discovered what he was during a storm, he was so scared that he ran straight to me. I’m not sure whether he trusted me to keep him safe or wasn’t thinking clearly. He was twelve and had no one else.”
“And me?”
“Your nanny.” When my mouth opens, he looks up.
“She didn’t mean to. She just wasn’t very good at keeping secrets, and I suspected something was up.
I knew she had a daughter she’d hidden from us, and I had my suspicions about why.
When I confronted her, she let slip what she’d seen you do.
She used you to deflect attention from her own child, and it worked.
Because then it was my turn to be scared. ”
He sighs and peers out at the water.
“I knew what my duty was. I knew that I should report you to the Tempestade immediately, but . . . I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I sat on the knowledge for weeks, and every time I decided this was the day I’d turn my only daughter over to the Extinguishers, I just couldn’t make myself go through with it.
“I know I haven’t always been much of a father, but in that moment, I realized that I really would do anything to keep their hands off you. So I did everything I could to protect your secret.”
“You had my nanny killed,” I whisper, and he nods.
“She was a loose end.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that I’m having trouble reconciling everything I’m feeling. He wanted to protect me, but at a cost I would never have asked anyone to pay.
“I would never have asked you to do that for me,” I say, and he glances over.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I never intended for you to find out. You’ve always been . . . different from me.”
I understand what he’s implying. I heard it nearly every day of my life. “Soft. Weak,” I say. “I know.”
His jaw hardens, his gaze wavering. “No. That isn’t what you are. I think I’ve just . . . never understood you, Poet. When you defied me last year, I realized I’d been reading you all wrong. You aren’t weak. You’re just a different type of strong. Unfortunately for me, I figured it out too late.”
I’m left speechless.
“That almost sounded like a compliment,” I say eventually, and he snorts a wry laugh before glancing over and assessing me.
“It’s an admission that I was wrong about you,” he says, then looks away.
“Figured it out too late for what?” I ask. “You mean you couldn’t figure out how to manipulate me?”
His mouth opens and then closes before he sighs. “I suppose so, yes.”
Why does this man never cease to surprise me?
“You left Greta without a mother. She almost died.”
He spreads his hands. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t regret what I did. It kept you safe for all these years until that Robins girl had to come in and fuck that up.”
“My nanny wouldn’t have told anyone. She loved me.”
“She was paid to love you, Poet. Do you really think she would have chosen you over her own flesh and blood if it ever came down to that?”
I swallow a thick knot that’s tinged with the bitter edge of regret. “I guess not.”
We both pause before I ask, “And General Sol? Why did you tell her about me?”
“Because I began to suspect there was something else happening with you. I noticed that you’d get all jumpy when the storms came. I knew you’d leave the city. That never happened with Raine. It felt like she was the only one I could trust.
“At first, she admitted to nothing, just asked me to keep an eye on you. It wasn’t until later that she began coming to me with more questions.
Eventually, I guessed she was keeping a secret and that you might be, too.
She confessed what she is, what you are, and that she might eventually need your help.
She isn’t going to live forever, and without a Storm Caller to protect and power the city, New Manhattan will begin to crumble.
I always knew she was important, but I never really understood just how much until then. ”
He shakes his head, falling silent.
“Does Mom know?” I ask. “About any of this?”
His jaw tenses. “She suspects several things, but I’ve told her not to ask questions for your safety and hers. It’s better if she doesn’t know too much. It would make her too vulnerable.”
“To whom?”
“The chancellors,” he says. “If they knew what you were, you’d be dead. And I would be, too. If your mother remains in the dark, it might protect her, but honestly, I’m not even sure about that.”
“They’re lying to us,” I whisper, and he looks at me, his gaze sharp as a knife, glinting in the murky dark.
“You can never say that again,” he says.
“Why not? They lied about the Tiera Frais and the Veil. They lied about us being the only ones left. They lied about—” I cut myself off before mentioning the cure. I don’t know if I can trust him with this. Has Sol shared all her secrets?
“They’re lying about Keepers,” I say instead. “They’re detaining people at random. Most of them aren’t infected, and they aren’t guilty of hurting anyone.”
My father nods. “You’re right.”
His tone suggests there’s more he isn’t saying.
My eyes narrow. “Do you know something about the murders?”
His gaze jumps to mine, and he pauses before he shakes his head. “No. Of course not.” Then he looks away, and I’m sure that he’s lying. “By accusing whomever they see fit, everyone is either looking over their shoulder or pointing fingers at their neighbor.”
He says it all with such weariness that I’m taken aback.
Who is this man I was so sure I knew?
“Why are you saying this?” I ask.
“Because you’ve lived in fear your entire life. Forced to keep a secret based on something you had no control over. I guess I never really understood how that must feel until my children became a target.”
“So you only started caring when it affected you?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I huff out a breath and shake my head.
“That’s what I meant when I said you’re different from me, Poet. You would have cared anyway, wouldn’t you? That’s why you refused to kill that man during your initiation. I designed that test to push you. I desperately needed to see if you would push back.”
“I suspected that was the case,” I whisper, tears burning in my eyes. “All those people died so you could prove a point to me? Or to yourself?”
He offers me a hard look. “You’ve always understood who I am. I have to keep this city safe, and that means making difficult decisions. I don’t suffer from regrets.”
I stare at my father. Of course I’ve always understood.
No one understands that as well as I do.
The man who raised me has always been exactly who he is.
“I want to see Mom,” I say. “I want her in my life.”
I don’t have to admit the rest. We both know there is no future for him and me. At most, we can find a sort of begrudging tolerance, but I refuse to let my mother go.
“Don’t take her away from me. Please.”
“I’m going to lose everything I’ve worked for,” he says, sidestepping my question.
“Because of me.”
“Do you want me to tell you otherwise? Your defection. Your refusal to marry Knox. It all sowed doubt in everyone’s minds about my ability to keep control of the city. If I couldn’t even manage one teenage girl . . .”
“I’m not a girl,” I say. “Not anymore.”
“I know that, too. And I understand the decisions you made were because I refused to listen. I know you think I’m incapable of admitting my mistakes, but I’m not.”
“This wasn’t my fault. And it wasn’t fair of you to blame me.”
He nods. “You’re right, but all I wanted to do was protect this city.”
I watch him, realizing we’ve had such similar yet disparate goals all along.
I don’t think I like it. I don’t want to understand him.
I don’t want to find common ground. We might both wish for the safety of New Manhattan and the people we love, but we’ll never see eye to eye about how to achieve that.
“So, what about Mom?”
He blows out a breath. “Call your mother . . .” His voice hitches before he adds, “I don’t know what the future holds for me, but if something were ever to happen, then you need to take care of her. She wouldn’t survive on her own.”
He studies me, and I study him right back.
Something is making him nervous.
“Of course I’ll take care of her,” I say, offended that he would suggest otherwise. I’m not the one who’s been hurting for all these years. “That’s never been a question.”
He gives me another long look, something almost like shame flashing over his expression. “I know.”
I peer up at the sky, where clouds are gathering. I scratch my wrist and then snap my hands apart when I catch my father’s stare.
“I want to know more about it,” he says softly. “What’s it like?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about this with you.”
“That’s fair.”
“I should go. I need to get back to school.”
I stand up and stare down at the man who has caused me so much pain. The man who tried to break me into pieces without a second thought. I can never forgive him, but maybe I can find peace in the idea that, in his own misguided way, he was trying to be a father.
He watches me, and I don’t know what else to say.
Goodbye seems inadequate, and see you later would be a lie.
So I don’t say anything.
I just turn around and walk away.