Thomas Calloway.
Nathaniel’s name.
My mother’s signature flowing elegantly at the bottom.
The same signature I had seen on birthday cards, school permission slips, letters tucked into my luggage.
A mother’s hand, turned into a weapon.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Mara nodded.
I answered on speaker.
Calloway’s voice came through, smooth and patient. “You found it.”
I stared at the rabbit in my lap. “You used my mother.”
“I used opportunity.”
“You stole my brother.”
“I saved your brother from chaos.”
Nathaniel’s voice cut in from somewhere behind him. “You saved me into a cage.”
Calloway sighed. “Nathaniel has always been dramatic.”
My mother stepped toward the phone. “Thomas.”
There was silence.
Then Calloway spoke softly. “Vivienne.”
“You came to me while I was sedated.”
“I came to you while you were grieving.”
“You made me sign him away.”
“I gave him life.”
My mother’s voice lowered into something I had never heard before. “No. You gave him chains.”
