“I was with the SSA for most of my entire life, until something happened, shall we say, that showed me the truth. And now I lead the Corcillium. Which is why, when I learned that you had surfaced in Arkansas, I sent my people to protect you. Leaving your family was a dangerous move. You were safe with them, in the protective bubble created by your parents and grandparents. You have no idea what danger you put yourself in by going on the run.”

Blue looked to Lily. “And when Rudd and the others told me about you, Miss Lily, I knew we had to keep you both safe. I’ve lived more than one hundred years without dying, but I felt like I almost would when I heard of the motel exploding. And yet, you survived. And at last, you are here.”

“So it’s all been a lie, then,” William said. “My grandmother wasn’t behind all this.”

Blue leaned forward. “Tell me, what do you know about your mother’s family? Her mother and father?”

“Why does it matter?”

“It matters greatly.”

William raised his eyebrow. “Not much. Only that they built the house where my grandmother lives. My great-grandfather was a landscaper. And my grandmother’s mother died when she was just a child.”

Blue reached over to the file in the seat of the wheelchair, her hands trembling, to open it and pull out a small photo. “I don’t even know … if your grandmother has any photos of her mother.”

She passed a small black-and-white photograph to him. The edges were yellowed and torn on one corner. It looked to be an ID of some sort, as the woman in the picture was not smiling.

“Do you recognize your great-grandmother?” she asked.

“Honestly … I think my grandmother has one photo in her bedroom, of her mother holding her as a baby. But I never really looked at it. Are you saying this is my great-grandmother? And how, may I ask, do you have it?”

“Her name was Freda Stanson, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. What does this have to do with anything?”

“Look closely at it. In fact, focus solely on that picture until I tell you otherwise. Hold it up, right there. Think of nothing but that face.”

“Ma’am, please—”

“Please, William. It’s the beginning of the explanation as to why you’re here.”

He sighed, holding up the photo before his eyes. Even in the black-and-white photo, he could see she had the same blond hair as Nanna, a trait passed along to his aunts but not his mother. She had other features like his grandmother: a graceful neck, the small ears, the curled hair. How many times had he heard Nanna grumble about how often she had to pull her own curls from her face, muttering that the only time it was ever controlled was when it was tightly curtailed in a bun—?