JAMIE
Ethan’s question hung in the air like dust that refused to settle. But I couldn’t answer it.
Not because I couldn’t come up with an answer to give him, but because I feared analysing his question would only throw us in a ship we were not ready to sail.
“Jamie, you are not saying anything…” Ethan whispered, his voice burning with urgency.
His shoulders were tense and his eyes flickered over my face as if I was a wall of digital information that could blink a response to what he was asking.
But again I only wondered, were we ready to sail that ship?
“Jamie—”
“I don’t know,” I muttered at last, rubbing two fingers across the bridge of my nose as I cut him off.
“But mother told us the same stories so much that… I don’t think they were just stories,” he insisted. “I think she wan
