Chapter 11
Silas lost his council seat.
Not his name.
Not his house.
Not his relationship to me, if one still existed.
His seat.
He looked at me across the library.
“You’re making an emotional decision.”
I almost smiled.
“You taught me that phrase.”
“It remains true.”
“No.”
I leaned back.
“It remains useful to men who dislike the decision.”
His jaw tightened.
“What happens to Gavin?”
“He loses operational command.”
“Celeste?”
“The engagement is over.”
Silas nodded as though consequences confirmed his argument.
“You are dismantling three relationships because of one failed demonstration.”
There.
Failed demonstration.
Not attempted framing.
Not terrorized child.
I stared.
“You still think the problem is that it failed.”
He looked away.
Good.
I continued.
“You do not see Maisie without her asking.”
His head snapped back.
“I am her great-uncle.”
“Yes.”
“You cannot erase blood.”
“No.”
I held his gaze.
“But I can stop blood from being treated like permanent access.”
That landed.
Maybe because the sentence also applied to him and me.
He had been my uncle.
Teacher.
Almost second father.
And still helped erase my mother.
Relationships can be real and harmful at once.
No clean mythology.
Before leaving, Silas said:
“Your father would think you’ve become weak.”
I thought of my mother.
Maisie.
June.
The fireplace.
Then I smiled faintly.
“My father taught me to fear that sentence.”
May you like
Pause.
“You don’t.”
