Amy Stone
Kael's eyes are soft with that impossible calm he wears when he wants to convince the world that he has everything under control. "Talk to me," he murmurs, half joke, half command.
My mouth shapes lies like coins. "He wants something," I say, too casual. "Old favors. He thinks I'm a bargaining chip."
He studies my face, searching. For a moment I consider telling him everything — the gun, the ultimatum, the way Michael named a deadline. I consider telling him that I spent the whole night after dinner rehearsing how to blow my father's head off if he tried anything, that the old Amy would have begged and the new Amy would definitely killed.
Instead I sip my wine and smile like it's normal. "It’s nothing you should worry about."
Kael doesn't look convinced. His jaw tightens, an
