“Don’t lie, K. You called meBaby Quinnevery day.”
“Kieran,” he said finally.
I blinked, turning toward him. “What?”
“Call me Kieran.”
I studied him. Something in his face—soft, wounded, hopeful—made my chest tighten.
“Why?” I breathed.
He gave a sad, crooked smile. “Why what?”
“Why did you really leave?”
The question hung between us like a blade.
This was it.
The moment.
If he answered—really answered—maybe the damage could be repaired. Maybe there was a reason that made sense, something I could hold, something I could forgive.
Kieran’s jaw tightened. Silence stretched thin and fragile.
“Do you remember what happened to my father?” he asked at last.
Of course I remembered.
Everyone remembered.
Levi Hawthorne had tried to lead a rebel coup against the Light Council. He’d claimed elections were rigged—proof in hand—that the Council had begun quietly deleting dark users from society.
My father, Gideon Quinn, the Council’s polished, smiling face, had called Levi a traitor.
The entire city had been summoned to witness his execution in the square.
Kieran swallowed hard. “They captured twenty men. Including my father. Put them on a platform for all to see, nooses hanging above their heads…”
His voice faltered, the memory tightening around him like the rope itself.
“And worse,” he whispered, “they made me watch. I wasn’t allowed to speak with him, or hug him, or say goodbye. Only watch him die.”
“That’s horrible,” I said, feeling useless.
And guilty.
I hadn’t been there. I hadn’t seen the bodies.
I’d only seen how happy my father had been that day—practically dancing.
“The Council—this world—it’s sick, Seph. All of it. And I tried to fit in at first. I did. But in the end… I couldn’t avoid the truth. I left because I wanted to change things.”
“How?” I asked him.
“By fighting. By working with people who are trying really hard to make a difference.”
“What—like the Equinox Front?”
