Julian looked at her, this woman who had chased him across three countries for five years and driven him half mad with her noise and her persistence and her absolute refusal to be ignored, and saw sothing in her he hadn’t made room to see before.
Soone who had been through sothing real. Soone who was still standing.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Yvette didn’t make anything of it. Just nodded once, small, final, and turned and walked away down the corridor. Her heels were steady on the floor.
Her back was straight. The nanny followed beside her, and the baby was a small pale yellow bundle against the nanny’s shoulder, and Yvette did not look back.
Julian stood in the empty hallway and watched until they turned the corner and were gone. The quiet that ca after was absolute.
He looked down at the card in his hand. Turned it once. Slid it into his jacket pocket.
Then he stood there a mont longer with the weight of the morning sitting across his shoulders one baby found, two babies still missing, a wife at ho broken open, a mother holding a company together against n who shared her blood and sharpened knives anyway, and sowhere at the root of all of it his uncle Kalian’s careful, cruel, patient hands.
He thought about what it was going to feel like when he finally reached the end of this. He let himself think about it for exactly three seconds.
Then he straightened his jacket and walked toward the exit.
The drive ho felt longer than it was.
Julian sat in the car and did not turn on music and did not make calls. He just drove. The city thinned around him as he left the centre, and the roads widened, and the trees ca back, and then the long familiar turn into the driveway of the Pedro mansion appeared ahead of him, and he followed it to the end.
He sat in the parked car for a mont. Engine off. Hands still on the wheel. Looking at the front door.
He had walked out of this house this morning with hope sitting in his chest like sothing warm and lit. He was walking back in with half an answer and a promise he still needed to keep and a conversation he did not yet know how to begin.
Jas was at the door before Julian had both feet inside. One look at his face, and Jas didn’t bother with pleasantries.
"She’s been in bed all day," he said quietly, falling into step beside Julian as he moved through the entrance hall. "Refused to eat anything. We tried everything. The older maid sat with her for almost an hour. I went up twice." He paused.
"The only ti she got up was when she heard the babies crying. She went to them, settled them, and then went straight back."
Julian absorbed this without changing his expression. "Prepare sothing light," he said, handing Jas his jacket. "I’ll take it up."
Jas nodded and moved toward the kitchen without another word. Julian stood in the hallway for a mont. Then he reached for his phone. His mother picked up on the second ring.
"How was the eting?" he asked. He kept his voice low even though he was alone.
"Your uncle was in fine form," his mother said, with the particular dry precision she used for things that had made her angry. "More arrogant than usual, if that is even possible." A pause. "He asked after the grandchildren. Made a point of it."
Julian went still.
"He made fun of the baby girl," his mother continued. "A comnt. Casual, the way he makes everything sound casual. But deliberate."
"He knows sothing," Julian said.
"Yes," his mother agreed. "I thought the sa."
Julian pressed two fingers briefly to his forehead. "The third mother doesn’t have our baby, Mother. We have her baby instead. It’s all been arranged very carefully. Whoever did this made sure the trail would be difficult to follow." He stopped. Let out a slow breath. "But I’m going to get to the bottom of it. I promise you that."
"I know you will," his mother said. Simply, without decoration. The way she had said things to him his whole life, when she ant them completely.
They said their goodbyes.
The tray was ready by the ti he ca back downstairs, sothing light, soup, bread, and a small glass of water. Julian picked it up himself and carried it upstairs.
The bedroom door was ajar. He pushed it open quietly.
The room was dim, the curtains not fully open. Amara was in bed, on her side, facing the window. She had heard him, he could tell by the slight change in her breathing, the way her shoulders shifted.
She turned. Her eyes found him in the doorway.
And then they dropped into his hands. The tray. Not a baby.
He watched it happen in her face, the thing she had clearly been bracing for all day, the possibility she had been holding at arm’s length since he left that morning. She had prepared herself. He could see that she had tried. And he could see just as clearly that preparing hadn’t been enough.
Her face didn’t crumble. She was past crumbling, maybe. She just looked hollow. Like sothing had been quietly scooped out of her while she lay there waiting.
Julian walked in and set the tray on the bedside table. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. Close.
"I heard you didn’t eat anything today," he said. Amara looked at the tray. Then at him.
"I’m not hungry, Julian."
"I know."
"What happened?" Her voice was quieter than usual. The sharpness was completely gone, not because she was calm, but because she didn’t have the energy for it right now. "You didn’t find her." She searched his face. "Tell . Please. Just tell ."
Julian looked at her.
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair back from her face, and let his hand rest there for a mont against her cheek.
"I found the third mother," he said.
Amara’s eyes didn’t move from his.
"And?" she whispered.
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