“Remember him?” Mr. Daniels answered instead, stopping just in front of Cam. He was only a couple of inches shorter than his son but had the kind of presence that made him larger than life. “I shot you.”

“You did.” Other than the clenching of his right fist, Cam showed no emotion. Guess that hadn’t changed, either.

“Art,” Captain Hall said as he clapped Mr. Daniels on the shoulder. “Not sure if you can see in all this dark, but this is—”

“I know exactly who it is,” Mr. Daniels seethed.

I mentally prepared myself for what this episode of dementia was going to gift us with.

Cam cocked an eyebrow as Mr. Daniels glared.

“This is the son of a bitch who killed my Sullivan.”

I gasped, sucking in air as I reflexively stepped close enough to Cam to brush my arm against his. He may as well have been a statue for all the reaction he showed. “Mr. Daniels—”

“I don’t know why the hell you’re here, but you can see yourself right back out.” He cut me off, effectively dismissing the son he hadn’t seen in six years.

Then he turned his back on Cam and walked toward the tree line, Captain Hall at his side.

“Cam,” Xander called softly. Whatever he saw in Cam’s eyes led him to shake his head and walk away, following his father.

“I’m so sorry. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” I whispered around the lump clogging my throat.

“Sure he does. And he’s right.” He looked down at me with a vacant-eyed smirk that sent me straight back to high school. He’d always been able to put a million miles of distance between us—between anyone—with a single look. “Told you he’d remember me.”

He walked off toward his family.

“Cam!” I shouted in a desperate attempt to keep him here just a little longer—the Camden who had stepped out in front of his father’s gun to shield me. But his transformation into cold, zero-fucks-given Camden was already underway.

“Go home, Willow.”

And now complete.

I watched him disappear into the trees and battled the bone-deep urge to follow. So much for the idyllic homecoming I’d foolishly let myself fantasize about over the years.

But he was here. He was home.

And I desperately wanted to know why.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Camden

It had been naive of me to think I might make it a day, or even two, before someone mentioned Sullivan’s death—or my role in it.

I’d made it roughly twenty minutes in my father’s company, and he’d already shot me and accused me of fratricide. Welcome home.

Silence kept me company as we hiked back down to the house, our flashlights and headlamps bobbing along the way. There were eleven of us, since Acosta had walked Willow home.