Page 98 of The Inheritance Games

“Yes,” I replied. “I was born on October eighteenth. And my mother—”

“This isn’t about your mother.” Jameson balled his fingers into fists and stepped back.

“Jameson?” I had no idea what was going on here. If Tobias Hawthorne had chosen me because of something that had happened the day I was born, that was big.Huge.“This could be it. Maybe his path crossed my mom’s while she was in labor? Maybe she did something for him while she was pregnant with me?”

“Stop.” The word cracked like a whip. Jameson was looking at me like I was unnatural, like I was broken, like the sight of me could turn stomachs, including and especially his.

“What are you—”

“The numbers are not a date.”

Yes, I thought fiercely.They are.

“This can’t be the answer,” he said.

I stepped forward, but he jerked back. I felt a light touch on my arm.Grayson. As gentle as his touch was, I got the distinct sense that he was holding me back.

Why? What had I done?

“Emily died,” Grayson told me, his voice tight, “on October eighteenth, a year ago.”

“That sickson of a bitch,” Jameson cursed. “All of this—the clues, the will, her—all of it forthis? He just found a random person born on that day to send a message?Thismessage?”

“Jamie—”

“Don’t talk to me.” Jameson swung his gaze from Grayson to me. “Screw this. I’m done.”

As he stalked away into the night, I called after him. “Where are you going?”

“Congratulations, Heiress,” Jameson called back, his voice dripping with everything but felicitations. “I guess you had the good fortune of being born on the right day. Mystery solved.”

CHAPTER 78

There had to be more to the puzzle than this. Therehadto be. I couldn’t just be a random person born on the right calendar date.That can’t be it.What about my mother? What about her secret—a secret she’d mentioned on my fifteenth birthday, a full year before Emily had died? And what about the letter Tobias Hawthorne had left me?

I’m sorry.

What had Tobias Hawthorne had to apologize for?He didn’t just randomly select a person with the right birthday. There has to be more to it than that.

But I could still hear Nash telling me:You’re the glass ballerina—or the knife.

“I’m sorry.” Grayson spoke again beside me. “It’s not Jameson’s fault that he’s like this. It’s not Jameson’s fault…” The invincible Grayson Hawthorne seemed to be having trouble talking. “… that this is how the game ends.”

I was still wearing my clothes from the gala. My hair was still in Emily’s braid.

“I should have known.” Grayson’s voice was swollen with emotion. “Ididknow. The day that the will was read, I knew that all of this was because of me.”

I thought of the way Grayson had shown up at my hotel room that night. He’d been angry, determined to figure out whatIhad done.

“What are you talking about?” I searched his face and eyes for answers. “How is this because of you? And don’t tell me you killed Emily.”

No one—not even Thea—had called Emily’s death a murder.

“I did,” Grayson insisted, his voice low and vibrating with intensity. “If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t have been there. She wouldn’t have jumped.”

Jumped.My throat went dry. “Been where?” I asked quietly. “And what does any of this have to do with your grandfather’s will?”

Grayson shuddered. “Maybe I was meant to tell you,” he said after a long while. “Maybe that was always the point. Maybe you were always meant to be equal parts puzzle… and penance.” He bowed his head.