67
LYNNE
“No. You can’t. It’s suicide,” I protested when Connor told me of his decision over breakfast.
“I either go back to London, or we all remain here in exile indefinitely,” Connor said.
“Then we stay here,” I said stubbornly. “I need you. Your son needs his father.”
“What do you think they would do to me if they did catch me?” he asked, reaching for his coffee. “They won’t kill me. I’m too valuable to them, remember?”
“If I’m right, Connor, you’re now a threat to them,” I insisted, having suddenly lost my appetite. I pushed my plate away. “Once you rejected their plans, you became a liability instead of an asset.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m no prophet,” he said with certainty.
“How do you explain the way you healed your mother? And me? And the bird?” I challenged him.
“I don’t
