James
Caden
I read the message three times.
Each time the words stayed exactly the same, which meant I was going to have to deal with them rather than hope they rearranged into something less significant.
I think it means I have a brother I didn’t know about. If that’s you, I’d very much like to talk.
Direct. Clean. No performance, no drama, just a man in London who had received an unexpected notification and decided the honest response was the honest response.
I already liked him slightly. Which was an absurd thing to feel about a stranger whose existence I’d known about for approximately forty minutes.
“He moves fast,” Aria said beside me.
“He’s an architect,” I said. “They’re decisive.”
She looked at me. “You don’t know any architects.”
“I know William Ashford designed two sig
