But I knew. I knew because I could see Emily’s makeup, could see she was built differently than Aern. Not physically, but her connections, and her apparent lack of those powers that the Seven Lines all held.
When I went back to work, I focused instead on the newer works, the records kept since Morgan’s birth. Logan pulled documents for me, covering the desk with books and certificates, ledgers and registers. There were photographs, too, here and there among the files. I found one of Morgan at maybe four or five, a hollow, lost look in his eyes as he was posed in front of the Council banners. And another, older Morgan as he seemed to accept his place among the elders. My fingers slid over the faces of strangers, the prints dulled with age. Suddenly, I found something familiar in a candid shot of two scrawny young boys. I paused, drawing the picture closer to find Aern, maybe ten years old, arm over the shoulder of another boy his age, standing carefree on the manicured lawn of a large, open and unguarded estate.
I looked up, comparing the picture to the man who stood across from me, and couldn’t help but smile, given the spiky blond tufts of hair sticking up in all directions in the photo. Logan narrowed his eyes on me, daring me to laugh. That only made it worse.
My grin widened. “I’d never thought of you as a boy before.”
His brows shifted. It wasn’t just an odd thing to say, it was the way I’d said it. I ducked my head back to the books on the table. He didn’t question it, but I could see him as I read, his body unmoving as he watched me from that same position across the table.
I resumed working, the records of Morgan’s building empire dragging me in despite my need to keep moving through the archives. He’d amassed quite a collection of businesses, but that wasn’t unusual. What was weird, however, was the section of run-down warehouses and crumbling industrial plants. I tried to remember what Emily had said, if she’d told me where the warehouse Aern had been held was, but I couldn’t bring it to mind.
“What about your visions?” Logan asked, moving to sit in the chair across from me.
I glanced up distractedly. “What?”
“The visions,” he explained. “You said flashes. Do you see everything?” I felt my brows draw together, and he gestured to the room around us. “I mean like this, did you know we’d be here? Did you see me coming?”
His tone was completely casual, innocent, as if he were simply curious. I’d opened my mouth to answer no to the first question when the second one registered in my brain. Did I see him coming? A flush tore up my neck, coloring my cheeks before I could curb it. My mouth hung open in a kind of dazed guilt that he’d caught me so completely off guard.
He nodded slowly, and I could see the knowledge lining up in his mind. My comment about him being a boy sparking the idea as he stood, watching, waiting for it to make sense. My reaction when I’d first seen him, my utter inability to even speak.
This was not going to go well.
“So,” he said with a measured air, “what, exactly, did you see … when I wasn’t a boy?”
“Nothing,” I answered, way too quick, way too emphatic.
“Brianna, if something is going to happen—”
“What? No!” The words stuck in my throat as I tried to explain he wasn’t in danger. “God, no, Logan. It’s nothing like that. Just … It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing.” Three nothings. Very convincing, Brianna.
I was too flustered to come up with a good lie, and Logan wasn’t letting it go. It was obvious my response wasn’t a nothing, but I couldn’t tell him the truth. What was I supposed to say, that fate had chosen him for me, that he was my one? The idea mortified me even more and I was suddenly too hot as the flush seemed to take over my entire body.
Logan noticed as he stared me down, the concern slowly shifting into understanding. I knew my face went impossibly redder as awareness slipped over his features, but I sat frozen as his eyes stayed locked with mine. It was apparently a full two minutes before the idea became utterly pleasing to him. A smile started at the corner of his mouth, crossing slowly over his lips, as if to say, ’ah, so that’s how it is.’
Grin still plastered to his face, he sat up, puffing his chest with unconcealed, all-male pride, and laced his fingers behind his head to lean slowly back into his chair.
“Oh, please,” I hissed.
He shrugged, the movement bringing my attention to the way his outstretched arms flexed for just an instant before I caught myself. When my gaze met his again, his eyes were crinkled in satisfied humor.
I glared at him. He wagged his eyebrows.
The gesture seemed to imply far more that it probably did, but given my absolute mortification, I took the act to mean it was all me. My idea. My fantasy. In an effort to defend myself, I huffed, “It was only a kiss.”
I regretted the words before they were even out of my mouth.
He leaned forward, suddenly, impossibly more interested than before.
I dropped my head to the table, covering my face with my hands just before my brow met wood with a dull thud. I had no idea if he heard me mutter, “Oh God,” into my palms.