I knew this was coming.
Not tonight specifically—I couldn't predict that. But ever since that night in the library, ever since Damian's mother's name appeared in the documents involving my father, there had been something in the back of my mind that stayed lit with a tone not loud enough to be called an alarm but not quiet enough to ignore.
*Your father knows something.*
Damian's words from two nights ago.
Words whose implications I still wasn't ready to fully unravel.
My phone vibrated at 1:47 a.m.
---
I didn't wake up immediately.
*Dad.*
Not a text. A phone call.
My father never called after midnight. Not once in twenty-two years—if there was something that needed to be said outside reasonable hours, he would text first, wait for a reply, and only call if he had permission. Tha
