“I... I don’t know. I don’t even think of him as my father. Thierry and Matthew helped raised me. They’re my dads. But does it irritate me that he hasn’t been around? Yeah. And it pisses me off that he knew Misha was the wrong choice and did nothing. Didn’t even seem to freaking care. Like he has no emotions or—” I cut myself off as the anger surfaced. “It doesn’t matter.”

Zayne tapped my arm. “I think it does.”

“No, it doesn’t. Anyway, it’s probably a good thing you haven’t needed to do the deep-sleep thing. I have an overwhelming urge to annoy the living crap out of any Warden when they’re in that form.”

“Good to know, but your father—”

“I really don’t want to talk about him. Besides, I have another question.”

“I wish you could see my surprised face.”

I grinned at that. “Why does your apartment look like no one lives here?”

“What?” He laughed.

“You know what I mean.” Unclasping my hands, I lifted one. “There’s nothing here. No photos or anything personal. No clutter—”

“How is not having clutter a bad thing?”

“It’s not, but it’s like...”

“It’s like what?” Zayne shifted again, and I felt his fingers brush my bare arm.

It was hard to ignore the jolt of awareness that followed his touch. “It’s like you don’t really live here. More like you’re...staying here.”

Zayne didn’t respond. Not for a long time. I thought that maybe he’d fallen asleep, but then he said, “It’s just a place to rest my head, Trin.”

I thought about that. “That’s...kind of sad.”

“Why?”

I wiggled my shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know. You should think of it as a home.”

“Do you miss your home?” he asked.

My lips pursed. Yes. No? Both. And yet neither? “Some days,” I said, settling in the middle.

“Strange answer.”

It was, but... “I miss my stars,” I said. “But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”

There was a quiet laugh. “Then ask me a different question.”

I blinked at that. “Okaaay.” I drew the word out as another question I had no business asking filled my thoughts.

“You want to ask another question.”

My head cut toward his. “How do you know that?”

“The bond.”

“What?” I started to sit up.

“I’m kidding.” He laughed, catching my arm and stilling me. “I can see it on your face.”

“My face?” I settled back.

“You wrinkle your nose whenever you’re thinking about something you want to say and trying not to say it.”

“Really?” I had no idea if that was true. The nose part, that is. Everything else was, as Peanut would say, totes true.