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I moved my hands to my mouth to try to contain the agony inside while scorching tears scalded my face.

No. No. No.

No more. Please. Not now.

Clutching the edge of my dressing table, I took a deep breath, then another. Tristan’s scent filled my lungs, and I opened my mouth in a silent howl of pain but also to breathe in as much of his essence as I could.

I opened my eyes, and he was crouched beside me as he watched helplessly.

“Fuck. Emily,” he whispered. “Are you okay? Breathe. Breathe.”

I locked eyes with his and blew out a breath and did exactly as he asked while I clung to the edge of my desk.

“You’ve got this,” he soothed. “Breathe.”

And oh so slowly, I came back to earth with each measured intake of air. My heart rate settled, and I closed my mouth.

“You back?” he asked.

I nodded and sat up, letting go of my desk. “You’re back.” I sniffed, stating the obvious.

“I told you. I can’t stay away. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“You didn’t,” I whispered. “Here. This.” I pointed to the news article, and while he was crouched at my feet, Tristan leaned in to read it. The screen scrolled of its own volition as he read.

How does he do that?

His demeanor changed subtly as he read. He became colder, harder—more distant, more harrowed. “So it was that bastard Pete,” he whispered, his voice laced with venom. “All this time, I didn’t know who—and you’ve shown me. I’ve known you for no time at all, and you’ve answered my burning unanswered question, the mystery that’s kept me locked here. Shit, Emily. I still don’t know why, but at least I now know who.” He gazed at me with a mixture of wonder and horror.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. “Reading that must have been difficult.”

“It’s difficult to think about what this shit did to my parents,” he said. “It’s painful to see them so devastated.” He looked up, his eyes full of sorrow and brimming with ancient grief. “That’s why I find it hard to occupy your space, Emily. I’ve seen your heartbreak and suffering on the faces of the people I love most.”

My throat constricted once more. “It was triggering to read, you know, remembering. It’s so hard to accept. It’s so hard to believe they’ve actually gone,” I whispered, squeezing the words past the lump in my throat.

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. But I think that’s what you need to strive for: acceptance. That’s the best outcome. You know they’re alive in you. That’s sacred. Remember that. Hold on to that.”

Sacred. Yes.

Tears oozed unwelcome down my cheeks, and he sat down on the floor bedside me, cross-legged. “Please don’t cry, Emily. I can’t hold you and I very much want to.” His voice was husky with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered and dashed my tears away with the back of my hand, struggling to contain my emotions. His suffering ironically made it easier for me. I had to be strong for him. “We’re no nearer,” I said, more to distract myself.

“Nearer?”

“To finding out why Pete was here the other day.”

Tristan’s eyes frosted as I mentioned Pete, then he rubbed his chin in deep thought. “Yes, and why now? At least we know the arsehole’s surname,” he said, his voice strained.

Stay strong, Emily.

“Perhaps he came back to find something he left behind?” I suggested.

“His room was the one you have all the crates in.”

“Perhaps we should look?”

“Beauchamp, I’ve been all over it. Everyone moved out a long while ago. When I came back to the house, it was empty. The son of a bitch made sure of that. Everyone was evicted. And there have been a succession of tradespeople coming and going, doing the place up. I tried to get rid of them. I failed, of course.” He smirked. “They seemed to be good people. But any one of them could have found something and taken it with them. It wasn’t like I was here around the clock.”