I shake my head, refusing it even as the truth starts to settle in.
“You were compliant,” he continues. “You showed promise. You learned quickly. You endured without collapsing. You adapted when others would have broken. You were never meant to be sheltered. You were meant to be shaped.”
I grip the edge of the chair, fingers tightening against the wood.
“All those years,” he adds, “I was preparing you. Conditioning you for what this life requires. The training, the discipline, the exposure. Nothing you survived was accidental.”
“What the fuck?” I yell. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I lunge forward on instinct. The cuff snaps me back hard. Pain shoots through my arms as the chair tips and slams down again.
John leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.
“You could’ve lived quietly,” he says. “I would’ve continued smoothing things over. You would’ve finished school. You would’ve married strategically.”
“Married who?” I ask. “Nick?”
“Yes.”
John gives a tight-lipped smirk, as if I missed a fortunate opportunity.
“Being married to a Talbert would’ve saved you,” he continues. “Their name carries weight in the Collective.”
I press my lips together, forcing them to stop shaking.
“You were manageable,” he goes on. “You weren't drawing attention. Seth was.”
I draw in a breath and hold it, then let it out slowly.
“He killed members. He killed his own father. He disrupted things that are meant to stay contained.” His eyes lower to me. “He was marked long before Stratford.”
My mind flashes to masked men again, to blood on tile, to Grant’s face.
“When you chose him, you attached yourself to instability.” John moves his hands in a small gesture, as if weighing options. “But then you killed Nick and Amber.”
“They tried to kill me.”
“That is irrelevant to them.”
“You made yourself expendable,” he continues. “And you placed me in a position where I had to answer for you.”
A broken sound leaves me. “You’re insane.”
“No.” He tilts his head slightly. “I’m practical.”
My mind struggles to keep up with it, with how easily the man who once felt like a father can talk about me like I am nothing but a pawn.
“They want you and Seth dealt with. Killed if possible. Locked away if necessary. Public consequences matter when certain families are involved.” He shakes his head. “You force their hand.”
I stare at him. I look at his face and understand I have never known him.
What unsettles me more is the realization that I don’t know what I have been living inside of all these years, and I don’t know what part of me has been shaped by it.
Mary steps closer, hands lifted in a careful gesture that tries to look gentle. “John, that’s enough for now.” Then she turns to me, and her voice slides back into the softness she uses when she wants me calm. “Brooke, sweetie, you need to eat.”
“Did you know about this?” I ask.
She blinks once. “When was the last time you ate, Brooke?”
