"Contract or not… there's no contract that explains why I almost kissed her tonight."
— Dylan Reed
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Dylan's Point of View
My head pounded with a hundred questions but not a single answer.
I sat in my study staring at the amber glow of the desk lamp pooling across unfinished papers.
Ian came in without knocking and dropped into the chair across from me, shoulders slumped, tie loosened as if the weight of the day hung on it. He looked as drained as I felt.
"A lot's happening at once," he muttered.
I rubbed a hand across my face. "I keep wondering if your father's telling us everything. Think you can get more out of him?"
Ian let out a sharp laugh with no humor in it. "You know as well as I do that's impossible. My father doesn't talk unless as told by your father or he's decided it's useful. He's loyal even after death. But… yes. I'm sure there's more."
Something tugged at the back of my mind.
