I don't remember standing. One second I'm sitting, trying to make sense of what my grandfather is saying — and the next, the room feels tilted, like the ground shifted under me without warning.
Since your great-grandmother.
The words echo.
They don't make sense.
They can't.
"What do you mean... since her?" My voice sounds wrong. Too thin. Too tight. "No. That's — no, you would've told me. Someone would've told me."
No one answers.
And that — that silence —
It hits harder than anything he said.
I look at them.
My father.
Kai.
Munro.
My grandfather.
They all have the same look.
Guilt.
My stomach drops.
"You knew," I whisper.
No one denies it.
Something inside me fractures.
"You knew?" My voice rises, sharp now, breaking on the edges. "All of you? My whole life and you j
