Page 68 of Games Untold (The Inheritance Games #5)

Chapter 41

H e came to me hours later in the hospital. My daughter— precious, precious girl —was asleep on my chest. The birth certificate sat on the table next to my bed. I’d filled out the last name—her biological father’s, Grambs —and the middle name.

“Kylie.” Toby’s voice was quiet and low. “Like Kaylie, minus one letter.”

“An homage,” I said. “I was forbidden from anything else.”

Toby stared at me for the longest time, and I knew that he was thinking about everything I’d told him about the dream. No regrets.

Eventually, he turned his attention to the bedside table and the birth certificate. He picked up a pen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Signing.” He never had been held back by little things like decency or rules. “For him.”

I didn’t question how he knew the father’s name or why he was signing. I wanted him to. In my heart, she was his .

“Stay,” I said softly.

“I can’t, Hannah. My father—he knows I’m alive. Everywhere I go, he’s never far behind. He wants me or what I took or both. I won’t let him near you.” He looked down at the baby, sleeping on my chest. “I won’t let him anywhere near her .”

Given what I knew, I couldn’t argue with that. Seeing Toby holding my daughter, I finally let myself think that maybe my happily ever after wasn’t ever meant to be with him.

Maybe it was always her , this perfect little girl.

“Take her,” I told him. “Hold her, just this once.”

I expected him to fight me on it, but he didn’t. He held my baby girl like she was ours, and our girl looked so tiny in his arms. He cradled her against his chest.

“Are there scars?” I asked him.

“Numerous scars,” he told me, and something about the way he said it made me think that he cherished them—every single one. He lowered his head, nuzzling the top of hers, and my daughter opened her eyes and looked straight at the man I loved.

“Avery,” Toby murmured. It took me a moment to realize that he’d just suggested a name. “Avery Kylie Grambs.” Toby looked from the baby to me with a crooked little smile. “Rearrange the letters.”

We wouldn’t have been us without one last challenge, one last game.

“Avery Kylie Grambs,” I said slowly, “rearranged…” My eyes met his. He handed the baby—handed Avery —back to me. “A Very Risky Gamble,” I murmured.

“I knew you’d solve it.” He lowered himself to his knees beside my hospital bed. “You always do.”

I didn’t want to put her in her bassinet. I didn’t want to fall asleep. I didn’t want to blink. I didn’t want him to go.

But he did.

He left me a stack of postcards—written in invisible ink.