His gaze returned to me.
The answer was
already there.
I felt it before he wrote anything.
ME.
A cold heaviness settled in my chest.
I had spent years believing my family’s collapse was the result of debt, illness, and my father’s mistakes. Now I was being told that someone might once have tried to frighten—or harm—me because of a financial report I had never seen.
Jason shook his head.
“This is speculation from a man who has been unconscious for nine months.”
Ethan’s eyes moved toward him.
Something passed between the cousins.
Not accusation.
Recognition.
The neurologist stepped forward.
“That is enough.”
Ethan resisted when the writing board was removed, but his strength was fading. His eyelids lowered. The monitor showed the effort his body had already spent.
Before I released his hand, his fingers traced a faint pattern against my palm.
Three.
One.
