“Rowan,” Evelyn said. “You look tired.”
He looked at his mother and wondered how many times he had mistaken cruelty for strength simply because it spoke softly and wore pearls.
“I am tired,” he said.
Claire stepped forward. “You scared me.”
“No,” Rowan said quietly. “I inconvenienced you.”
Her face tightened.
Evelyn lifted one hand. “Let’s not begin with accusations.”
“Then begin with answers.”
His mother studied him. “About what?”
“Lily.”
For the first time, Claire’s mask slipped completely.
It lasted less than a second, but Rowan saw it.
So did Evelyn.
His mother’s gaze moved toward Claire, cold and warning. Then back to him. “Who told you that name?”
“Megan.”
Evelyn’s mouth compressed. “Of course.”
Rowan felt something inside him settle. The old version of him would have raised his voice. Demanded. Threatened. Tonight, he became very still.
“Where is my daughter?”
Claire wrapped her arms around herself. “Rowan, you don’t understand.”
