Hugh raises his glass, squinting at it. “But I’m not sure it counts as the Lord’s speech, does it? And I wouldn’t want to shirk my responsibilities.”

The vitriol in his voice. The resentment.

Hugh stands.

Matthew grips the arms of his chair like he’s going to rise too, then glances at Mrs. Wickett, at Jo, at me, and remains still.

It takes effort for me to breathe. Charlie wraps his hand around my arm and squeezes.

“My father often spoke of the duties that would fall upon me once I took up the mantle of Lord of Lute, chief among them the grave necessity of protecting you—my friends, my neighbors—from falling into chaos.” A smile dances over Hugh’s mouth, fleeting, then sinks into a deeply etched frown. “And so it is my duty to warn you all that we have a killer in our midst.”

My throat turns to lead. How dare he turn those words on me like this—he knows what my mother accused me of all those years. You’re a killer, Nina. And how I believed her, for so long.

But I’m not a killer. It wasn’t my fault my father went out after seven beers and crashed going the wrong way on Interstate 4. I was a baby, not a demon, and it wasn’t my fault I had colic, that I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t tire my mom out on purpose so she’d let Becca fall in the pool and need to be revived. Tragedy might follow me, but that doesn’t mean it’s my fault, and Hugh fucking knows that.

He’s angry at me for something else, to have weaponized those words like that.

For kissing Matthew. He knows.

“A saboteur,” Hugh adds. He leans in like he’s just played a checkmate move on a chessboard.

I’m confused.

He doesn’t mean me at all. He’s back to the power outage rant. I feel like the wind is lifting me, but relief is the wrong word for it. Something in me suspects this is worse.

Jo rises, gliding silently to me. “Why don’t we get the kiddies to bed, Nina? It’s after nine, if you can believe it.”

The time ripples through the room. Less than thirty minutes to sunset. Three left.

“Yes,” I say, my eyes locked on Hugh as he swigs his wine. “Let’s—”

“Oh no, darling, stay; this concerns you more than anyone,” Hugh says smoothly.

I hazard a smile, trying to defuse this as Charlie did the last awkward moment. “Oh, I suppose they can stay up for a few more minutes.”

Perhaps if they all were to think this was our usual banter, a little inside humor, nothing to worry about at all. Perhaps if Hugh were to realize that the children, his children, are sitting right here, listening to this.