And now he has no one to stand between him and that demon; he is to suffer all alone at the top of that godforsaken tower.
I can only pray that it continues to treat him as it did before and not take out its anger toward me on Atlas.
“Julian, are you listening?”
I lift my head, finding my father standing in the doorway of the living room. We’ve been staying in this two-bedroom house by the water in Port Orford since this morning, when he dragged me from the estate.
It’s nice; don’t get me wrong. We each have our own bathroom, and the water is beautiful from here. The fact that Abraham is allowing us to stay here until we land on our feetandhas given us three months’ severance pay is incredibly generous.
But it doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s ripped away what rightly belongs to me. That he’s left his son to suffer.
“Yeah, I’m listening,” I mutter, turning to stare out the window and out into the horizon.
My father begins to approach where I sit on the couch. “I asked you if those scratches from before—the ones on your cheeks—were from that demon, too?”
“Yeah.” My response is short and monotone, but I don’t feel like talking.
In fact, I wish he’d leave me the hell alone.
I know he did what he felt was right to protect me, but that doesn’t stop me from resenting him just a little. I wish he had left me there, even ifhefelt the need to leave.
Dad sighs. “Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you ask for help?” He sounds desperate, as if he would give anything to understand me in this moment.
At first, I say nothing. I don’t believe hedeservesa response.
But as I lift my head and take in the pained, scared expression he’s wearing, I crack.
“It wasn’t safe for you to know,” I tell him. “And it would risk our income.”
“I don’t give a shit about our income!” Dad yells. “Not where you’re concerned. You’re myonechild, Julian. The only one I’ll ever have. If I had lost you, if you had been taken from me, I—”
He stops abruptly, turning his face from me. I can see his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his fists clenching at his sides.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I offer. “I’m here, and I’m fine.”
Dad doesn’t respond, and before I can say anything more, a car out front honks twice.
I’m on my feet and barreling through the front door within moments.
Oscar is standing by the driver’s side door of his car, and the trunk is propped open. I’ve been waiting for him; I knew he would be delivering our things sometime soon.
“Hey,” I call, rushing down the walkway.
Oscar gives a nod, observing me with a blank expression.
I continue. “How are things? How is Atlas?”
I expect him to correct me, to make another snappy comment about my informality and using his correct title, but instead, Oscar heads toward the trunk and clears his throat.
“The Young Master is well. You have no reason to worry, Julian. Just go about your life and heal.”
“But what is he doing?” I push, taking the bags as he hands them to me.
We entered Chastain Castle with four suitcases and left with six.
“He has been hiding in his room,” Oscar says softly, and I can see something sad and distant in his dark eyes.
“Could I just—”