I ducked my head, even though my skin was too dark to see the flush.
"My lawyer thinks we have enough to challenge everything," I said. "He wants to move fast. Before they realize how much evidence I have on them. I'll eventually need to return to Florida to speak with him face-to-face."
"Have you thought about what happens if this doesn't work out in your favor, Chloe? Arthur still has friends. He has money."
I looked out the window at the magnolia trees, my reflection ghosting over the glass. My heart suddenly felt like a cold stone. "Then I'll just kill them."
Killian choked on his water.
"Chloe," he said, his voice a low warning. He looked around, making sure he was the only one who heard me in the crowd. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not?" I turned to look at him, my throat tight. "They killed my mother. They stole my life. They let a man put his hands on me while I had to pretend I didn't even know my own name. Prison isn't enough to settle that debt, but I'll settle for it. If that doesn't happen, I will kill them."
"I'm saying you can't say it out loud. You have to be the victim or the victor out loud—you can't be the executioner even louder."
"I don't care who hears me. You don't understand," I whispered. A wave of sadness washed over me, cooling my rage. "I hate them that much, Killian. It's a physical thing. It's under my fingernails. It's in my marrow. I don't just want my money back. I want them to stop breathing the same air I do."
I felt the tears prickling, the old emotion trying to pull me back into that attic. Killian must have seen it. He reached over, his thumb grazing my hand. He didn't tell me I was wrong. He didn't try to talk me out of my rage. He just shifted the weight—gave me something else to hold.
"Where are we going after this, little ghost?"
I took a shaky breath and leaned my head back. "It's a place called The Inkwell."
Chapter 33: Chloe
When they called her name, she walked to the stage like she was walking to her execution.
The lights came up. She squinted against them, wrapped her fingers around the microphone stand, and closed her eyes.
The room went quiet.
Then she spoke.
"Black girl trapped in a room with no windows
Counting cracks in the ceiling like they're constellations
Mapping out a sky she was never meant to touch"
Her voice was soft at first. Hesitant. Like she was testing whether the words would hold her weight.
"She learned to be quiet before she learned to speak
Because speaking got her mother killed"
I felt my chest tighten.
"Black girl lost
Watching the moon rotate through a frosted pane
Waiting for a man who looked like a protector
And smelled like war"
She was talking about me.
"Waiting to be seen