Page 170 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“You always say that.”

“I am often aware of my options.”

She gave me a tired little smile that undid me.

I pulled back the covers. She climbed in without arguing, which told me more about how ill she was than any thermometer could. Max settled on his bed beside hers, watching me as I arranged her water, medicine, tissues, and phone within reach.

“Thank you.”

The words were almost nothing, but they speared right through me.

I stood there a moment too long.

Then I bent and kissed Max on the head.

He accepted this as his due.

Quinn’s eyes cracked open. “Did you just kiss my dog?”

“Yes.”

Her smile barely formed before sleep pulled her under again.

I looked at her mouth. Then I looked away.

I didn’t get the privilege of this life simply because I wanted it. I had responsibilities. A mother whose good hours came and went without warning. A father who had carried too much for too long. A pack that still measured belonging in blood and teeth. A family history scattered through museums, auctions, private rooms, and the hands of men like Dimitris Burelian and Luke Gildstein.

Love required much.

I knew that better than most.

And still, leaving her apartment felt like stepping out of a life I had no right to imagine.

I locked the door behind me and waited until I heard Max settle again before going downstairs.

My driver took me home. I didn’t remember most of the ride.

At the estate, the house was quiet in the way large homes became quiet after midnight. Lights were low in the main hall. Staff had retreated to the back corridors.

I expected to go straight to my rooms.

Instead, I found my father in the library bar.

He had finished a late meeting; I could tell from the open folder on the table and the bourbon poured into one of the old crystal glasses my mother liked because the facets caught light. He looked up when I entered and studied me.

“You look troubled,” he said.

“I am tired.”

“Those are not the same thing.”

I crossed to the sideboard. “Is Mother asleep?”

“For now.” He leaned back in the leather chair. “She had a difficult evening. Thought the west corridor was her aunt’s house.”

I poured a finger of bourbon. “I’m sorry.”

“She wasn’t distressed. Only insistent. Apparently, her aunt kept terrible lamps.”