I could not stop pacing.
Back and forth.
Across the length of my bedroom.
The floor beneath my feet had become a rhythm at this point. Step. Turn. Step. Turn. My mind kept replaying the same conversation inside the warehouse over and over again until the words no longer sounded like words anymore.
Your father.
Turns out he talks too much.
I stopped near the window and folded my arms tightly.
The city outside was quiet tonight. Cold lights stretching endlessly beyond the glass. Cars moving below like distant currents. Normal people living normal lives while mine continued spiralling into increasingly ridiculous directions.
Malcolm knew about my mother.
Not the public version.
Not the police version.
The real version.
Or at least enough of it to become dangerous.
I picked my phone up from the desk and stared at my father's contact for three full seconds before pressing call.
He answered on the first ring.
"Hello princess."
I closed my eyes immediately.
