"That is impossible."
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. They sound thin in the ruined nursery, swallowed by dust and weak morning light. I keep staring at the petition in my hands.
Victor Montague. My grandfather's name sits at the bottom like a blade someone hid in plain sight. Richard sees it land. He always does. He folds his hands and looks almost pleased. "He came to me first," Richard says. "Before the crash. Before the tears. Before all of you started worshipping grief as if it makes men innocent."
Julian turns on him. "Shut up."
Richard's eyes slide to him. "You see? Even now, you sound like my son."
Julian takes a step forward.
Nathaniel catches his arm before he reaches him. It is quick. Clean. Not dramatic. But it stops him, and that alone tells me how close
