Chapter 97:
Nathaniel Cross dies on a Tuesday.
It's quiet. It's early. The nurse calls me at six in the morning and says he went in his sleep and he didn't suffer.
Kael drives me to Ashford.
The farmhouse is still. The nurse has already opened the windows. The curtains are moving in the breeze and the coffee pot is cold and the chair by the bed is empty.
I sit down next to the bed.
And I don't cry.
That's the strange thing. I sit there for an hour and I don't cry. I just look at the man who gave me life and gave me up and spent fifty years carrying other people's sins and then spent his last week trying to give it all back.
"You should have told me," I say.
He doesn't answer.
"You should have told me you were sick and I would have come sooner."
The house is quiet.
"Okay," I say
