“You are allowed to ask, Olivia,” he said, his voice dropping as the snap slid away. “You did not intrude intentionally. While the thought of sharing that memory is hardly comfortable, the question is understandable. I believe it was several days. There was no way of knowing at that age. It was after Rose tried to take me, and Seanna punished her by moving. There was a storage cubby in the new apartment. Sometimes her men didn’t mind me being around, but if she suspected my presence would create tension, she’d put me in the cubby. That particular time, the man invited her to a party. Whether she was too high or drunk to remember me—or simply making too much money to hurry home—I only know that I was unconscious when she returned. The next time she attempted to put me into that cubby, I…did not respond well. She began instead taking me to a park and leaving me there, presumably to play, though I could never quite understand the attraction.”

“I—”

“I’m explaining to provide context. Nothing more. I understand sharing that memory is awkward for you as well. We can alleviate some of that by me simply saying that it doesn’t require a response. So let’s…”

“Move on?”

He exhaled audibly. “Yes. Please.”

I understood what he was saying. For those few minutes, I’d experienced the hell of his early life, and I could not now just brush it off to goof around in a fun house.

“I’ll just…I’m going to go see Lloergan for a second.”

“To give yourself a moment to react privately, knowing I mishandle emotional responses.” That chill seeped back into his voice.

“Gabriel, please? I’m…” I clenched and unclenched my fists.

“Upset.”

“I hate her,” I blurted. “I have never hated anyone the way I hate Seanna. And if there’s any chance she’s…No, she isn’t.” I took a deep breath. “Sorry. No. She isn’t. Someone is impersonating her. That’s all.”

“I agree. But if we’re wrong?” He met my gaze and lowered his voice. “I’m quite certain I wouldn’t fit in that cubby anymore.”

He was trying to lighten the mood. But when he said that, all I could think about was how terrified he’d been, what it must have been like, trapped in there for days.

I burst into tears. They started streaming down my face as I frantically wiped at them, blathering, “Sorry, sorry.”

I was still babbling and trying to stop crying when he pulled me into a hug. It was a Gabriel hug—an awkward embrace that feels more like restraint.