Page 78 of Inheritance

Damien’s face was the picture of confusion.

“It means stop being a fuckin’ moron.”

Damien stood abruptly, jaw clenched. We watched him storm off, shoving past those who didn’t make way for him.

I spotted Sophia not too far off from his path. She stood just off-center, caught in conversation with two people I didn’t recognize—an older man with a politician’s stance and a woman holding a tiny purse too high on her wrist. The man was talking too much. The woman smiled too little. But Sophia was in it.Listening. Answering. Holding her posture like she was better than them.

My father followed my gaze, silent at first. Then, “You chose well.”

I spared him a glance, then looked back to her.

“She knows how to play the game,” he said low, almost to himself.

Still, I said nothing.

“She’s a useful girl.”

I turned to him. “She’s not here to be a pawn.”

He gave me a calm, mild look. “What did I just say?”

The downside of my father being back to his old self, was that he was back to his old self.

His hand gripped my bicep with a strength I didn’t know he had. He pressed a small velvet box into my hand.

“She is one of us now.”

I looked down, cautiously opened it. My mother’s ring glinted in the light.

It made a loud snap as I closed it, and by the time I looked back up, he was walking away.

I turned back to look at her. She laughed at something the woman said. Not big. Not loud. Just enough to pass for ease. A victory in the silent war between women, or a loss. I couldn’t tell. But I knew her well enough to see the discomfort growing within her. The tension held just beneath the skin. She was performing—and doing it well. But the signs were there.

I walked toward her.

I was halfway there when something caught in my periphery.

Not movement. Stillness.

Near the far archway, just beyond the gilded sconces and the masses, a man stood with his back too straight and his hands too still. He wasn’t part of any group. Wasn’t holding a drink.

He was watching me.

Not openly. Not stupidly. Just enough to look like he wasn’t.

I slowed.

He shifted, as if he had only just noticed me, nodding slightly as if commending me, then raised a hand at a passing servant for a drink.

I changed direction, intent on flanking him.

The crowd closed slightly behind me, swallowing his line of sight, but I kept track of him. Cutting through the murmured conversations, I passed two men laughing too loud and a woman straightening her pearls. But when I reached the archway, he was gone.

He could’ve been anyone. Someone loyal to the Sinclairs. Someone who cared about Nikolai. A cop. Or just a guest. I didn’t like it.

I turned slightly, and that’s when I saw one of our newest recruits posted near the stairs.

I gestured. Small. Precise.