Page 95 of Storm Caller

“I want it, too.”

“The Shield won’t like it,” he says. “This is not how it’s supposed to be.”

A weariness settles into his voice.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“I want your mother to be happy.” I find that a little hard to believe, but the sentiment feels genuine. “And that means allowing you back into our lives.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say. “I know you don’t believe that, but I never meant for this to tear us apart. You just . . . wouldn’t listen to me.”

I won’t take all the blame for this.

“They’re planning a leadership vote,” he says, clearly deflecting my comment. “My authority has been called into question.”

This is exactly what he was afraid of.

“I’m . . .” I stop. I was about to apologize, but for some reason, I can’t make the words come out. Maybe it’s because I’m finally realizing that I did nothing wrong. And I’m not sorry.

My father studies me, then slowly dips his chin.

“Thank you for coming,” he says.

I guess that’s all I’m getting for tonight. I’ll hold him to his promise to contact me, no matter how annoying I have to be.

“I did it for Mom. Not you. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

His mouth presses together into a thin line. “I know.”

“Okay, well, I guess you can decide if I see her again. Seems really fair.”

He narrows his eyes. But when he says nothing else, I turn around and leave, finding Rook and my mom in the living room. It sounds like Rook is telling her about Storm Guard training.

They both look up expectantly when I enter.

“Poet?” my mom says, her arched brows suggesting she has some idea of what my father and I were discussing.

“Thanks for having us, Mom,” I say, walking over and kissing her on the cheek. “It was nice to see you.”

“Of course,” she says. “Will I see you again?”

She looks so hopeful that I can’t stand the idea of breaking her heart. I don’t care what my father decides—he isn’t taking her from me.

“Yes, Mom. I promise.” Then I pull away. “We should go. Curfew is soon.”

Rook pushes up from the sofa and dips at the waist. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Graves.”

“Sariah,” she says. “Please, I insist.”

“Sariah,” Rook repeats, clearly uncomfortable but humoring her request.

After another round of goodbyes, we enter the elevator and make our way to the ground floor, stepping out into the cool night.

Clouds flash on the distant horizon, but the storm is still hours away.

“Let’s go,” I say, heading toward the docks to take us back to Amery. Rook snags my wrist and tugs me against him.

“Not so fast. It’s your birthday, and we need to celebrate.”