I hold his stare.
"I know," I say.
Declan's jaw muscles flex, and for a second, I think he's going to hit me, and I wouldn't stop him if he did.
But he steps back, his hands still clenched, his eyes burning with barely restrained fury.
I understand it. If someone did to my sister what I did to Keira, I'd want them dead too. I don't blame him. I'd feel the same.
"Lyra," Callum says, breaking the tension, "can you look over Octavian's wounds, please?"
Lyra looks at Declan first, who nods slightly.
"Sure," she says and walks over to me.
I sit down, and she looks at my shoulder, ripping my shirt open.
"Oh. You've got a stab wound," she says.
"And this," I say, lifting my arm to show my gash.
"Okay, let me get my stuff."
She walks out of the room, and Keira's voice brings my attention back to her.
"I can't find a Cormac Donoghue anywhere." Her tone is sharp, frustrated. "Instagram kids. Random Facebook profiles, yes, but none of them match."
"Who's Cormac Donoghue?" I ask, leaning forward but still trying to keep my distance, careful not to crowd her.
She looks up at me, her green eyes red-rimmed from crying.
"The Phantom King," she says. "That's his name. He told me before..." She trails off, her gaze going back to the screen. "Before you showed up."
A knife twists in my chest. She was alone with him. Talking to him. While I was…
Guilt crashes over me, sharp and suffocating.
"Catch up, man," Declan snaps from across the room.
I ignore him, focusing on Keira.
Lyra comes back into the room and starts patching me up. It stings, but I just focus on the woman I love in front of me and almost feel like it's what I deserve.
I watch her fingers moving faster now on the iPad, more frantic.
"Yeah. Damn it. There's only one article with that name," she says, mostly to herself. "From like forty years ago. A house fire. But everyone died, so..."
Callum slams his hand against the back of a chair.
"Fuck," he growls. "Why can't we make any traction on all this?"
I clear my throat. This is the perfect way for me to show my worth, to her specifically.
"I may have someone," I say. "Back in Bucharest." I wince as Lyra presses something against my shoulder.
Everyone turns to look at me.
"A contact," I continue. "He specializes in finding people who don't want to be found. I've used him for years. If Cormac Donoghue exists, he'll find him."
