Duke takes a seat on a bench inside the waiting area, and I’m escorted to an empty room to wait for my father. I’m sitting at one end of a heavy metal table, and it’s like an icebox in here.

I can’t believe this is real. I can’t believe I’m visiting my dad in jail. I can’t believe he’s in jail. Again. Because of me.

No. Because of him. I just happened to be there.

A buzzer startles me out of my reverie, and a door opens. A guard is followed by a guy in an orange jumpsuit, followed by another guard.

I know it’s my dad. Logically, it has to be him. And he looks as sunken and sallow as he did in the cave. But only now, under the halogens, can I fully appreciate how much he’s changed.

I stand up slowly, letting him take in my full measure. All six foot two, two hundred pounds of me. Two hundred pounds of solid muscle, and all of it because of him. Because of hiding in the dark. Because of not being able to sleep. Because of feeling like I had to defend myself against the world after what he put me through.

When I went after him—when he knocked me out—I didn’t get the chance to do this. I lost the upper hand, and after all these years, I need it back. I want this to happen on my own terms.

The way his eyes widen, shock clear on his pale, haggard face, is a balm to my soul.

“Micah?”

I sit down with a loud scrape of my chair. “Dad.” I gesture for him to sit. He does, far more slowly than I do. His wrists are in chains.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he says.

“Didn’t think or didn’t want?”

He settles back with a frown that slips deep into the creases and grooves of his face. “Your mom said you were angry with me. I thought maybe she’d exaggerated.”

“Mom’s been to see you?”

He nods but doesn’t offer anything else. I hope she gave him hell.

“I’m not angry,” I lie, tapping the tabletop. I look into his eyes. They’re clouded, so unlike the brilliant hazel they used to be. “I barely think of you.”

His expression is mild. “Then why are you here?”

I let out a huff. “Actually, you’re right. I am angry. I’m furious. You left me, a thirteen-year-old who worshipped the ground you walked on, to deal with the consequences of your actions. You fucked up, and we paid for it.”

“What do you want me to say, Micah? They sent me to prison. I paid my debt.”

“I don’t think so. You hid out in there. Do you even know what you put Mom through?”