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And it isn’t Silas’ fault, at least that’s what I tell myself.

A sheepish smile stretches across his face as he looks up from my chart. “I apologize. Why don’t we start over?”

Words don’t leave me as he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Hi, Delilah. I’m Dr. Silas. It’s nice to see you again.” He tugs a pen out of his white coat. “Why don’t you tell me about your headaches. The frequency, time of day, intensity. Have you pinned down any possible triggers?”

So far, being alive is my trigger. My teeth fight withmy bottom lip, caging the retort and rearranging it into something less jarring. “It’s worse when I have to read.”

“Do you read in well-lit spaces?”

“Sometimes, but it’s mostly on my phone.” I shrug again, noting the wrinkle on his forehead.

“I see.” Silas’ cool palms guide my head forward, so I’m focused on a single point straight ahead. Then he pulls something out of his jacket. “Keep your eyes straight ahead for me.”

Fighting a shiver from the icy chill of the room, I do as I’m told, my fingers clamped around the edge of the examination table to subdue my nerves.

“Interesting,” Silas intones, slipping the tool back in his pocket. “I’m gonna give you a referral to an ophthalmologist. My colleague should be able to get you in later this afternoon. Does that work for you?”

Nodding, I trace his movement until he takes a seat on the stool and peers up at me.

“How’s your sleep, Delilah?”

“Okay, I guess.”

A smile softens his already friendly features. “Any history of panic disorders or sleepwalking? Waking up more tired than you went to sleep?”

The nurse asked me the same thing before he showed up, so I give him a similar shrug. I know he’s just doing his job, but I don’t know what I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve been to a doctor in my adult life, and the reality of that sits on my chest, heavy and stinging.

What does it say about my father that the man who kidnapped me wants me to get medical care after knowing me for a month when my parent had all my life to make sure I was good?

Not only that, Marcellus went out of his way to makesure I wasn’t while he and Weston had a doctor who made house calls for them.

My vision blurs as a pit forms in my stomach.

“Delilah?”

Papers shuffle and I can hear wheels rolling over tile, but I can’t make myself focus on anything but the ringing in my ears.

“Delilah…”

A firm touch weighs down my shoulder and the clean smell of hand soap snaps my focus back to Silas.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

His smile is missing as he watches me. “Does that happen often?”

“No.” It’s somewhere between a lie and the truth.

“Can you tell me more about your sleep? Do you wake up rested?”

“Yes.”

He slips in his next question smoothly, “Ever wake up with bruises or snapshots of memories you can’t explain?”

Between Victor’s greeting this morning, Adonis’ less than cold demeanor and this, it’s starting to feel like everybody knows something I don’t. As if I forgot something pivotal that’s cemented in everyone else’s mind.

“Sometimes,” I finally muster.