“You let me spend eight days thinking I was losing my mind. You let me think the scar was malfunctioning. You let me go into the archives and find my mother’s journal on my own when you could have handed me the answers on the first day,” Lira said.
“I know,” Soren said.
“Why?” Lira asked.
Soren looked at her. The fire was burning lower now, the light dimmer, the shadows deeper. His amber eyes caught the flame and held it.
“Because I wanted you to find it yourself,” he said. “Not the facts, those I could have given you, but the moment of reading your mother’s words in her own hand, the moment of knowing that she loved you and she was afraid for you and she wrote your truth down and hid it in the dark hoping you would find it someday. That moment belonged to you, not to me, not to anyone
