25
ALFIE
The simulation data blurs as I stare at the screen, the numbers twisting into meaningless patterns. I adjust the pressure parameters again, watching as the calcium formations react. Blues and greens ripple across the display—signs of chemical shifts that, on Europa, could mean the presence of microbial life.
A recipe for life itself, unfolding in miniature.
And yet, all I can think about is Tara.
A whole day since she last spoke to me. A whole day of telling myself this is better—better she’s angry than letting that smug bastard James back her into a corner. How the fuck was I supposed to stand by and do nothing?
My phone buzzes.
Drake.
I don’t want to answer but ignoring him has never made him disappear. I press the call button.
“What?”
“Someone’s grumpy,” he drawls, his voice thick with amusement. “Let me guess—trouble in paradise?”
I grind my teeth. “Did you need something?”
“Just checking in. Mother’s been worried.”
I snort. “Since when?”
“Oh, you know how she is. Always trying to... fix things.” A calculated pause. “Making problems go away.”
Every hair on my arms rises. “Drake. What are you talking about?”
“I assumed you knew. Since you guys are so close...” He gives a soft, knowing chuckle. “Mother thought she was being quite generous. A dream job, fast-tracked career, all very civilized. Not like when she had to buy off my Sarah in college. Remember that mess?”
Sarah.
My stomach turns. The girl Drake got pregnant. The girl my family paid off, then erased.
I’d tried to find her later, but she was just gone. Social media wiped. Phone disconnected. One more casualty of our family’s quiet, ruthless efficiency.
A cold fist tightens in my chest.
“What exactly did Mother offer Tara?”
“I’m not sure. Something about London.”
The world tilts.
That’s why she’s been avoiding me. Not just anger about James—this.
The offer. My mother’s intervention. Taraconsidering it.
I grip the edge of my desk so hard my fingers go numb. The memory of Tara’s voice, bright andso fucking sincere,burns through me. The way she’d defended my work. The way she’dfoughtfor what she believed in.
And now she’s?—
No.
I shoot to my feet. My chair slams into the wall behind me.
