“I—” I pause to gather myself. Surely there are follow-up questions I should ask him. “You will?”

My immediate reaction is to feel foolish. Could all this have been avoided if I was honest with him from the beginning?

I blink away the thought. I know better now than to get caught up in games of what if with myself.

My next thought is suspicion. “Surely, it’s not that easy.”

“Well, no”—my father considers—“but you are a child. The adults will handle it. I am your father. This is my job.”

I almost correct him, tell him that I’m nineteen. It’s been so long since someone looked at me and thought I needed taking care of. It is a relief. I lean into the feeling. I feel so young, still.

My father paces for a few moments, thinking, before walking to the coatrack by the door and pulling off his hat and overcoat. “I need to go now, people to meet with. I’ll let you know soon. You have the key?”

“Yes.” I’ll fight Finn any way I can to get it back.

My father nods. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll talk more about what needs to be done. But please, go home, get a good night’s rest. We will fix this, Frances. You don’t need to do this alone.”

There is a part of me that wants to ask questions or insist I follow him. But I am so, so tired. The kind of tired that has turned my bones to jelly and stuffed my head full of cotton. I want to rest, I need to, before I shatter completely.

I do what is hardest for me to do. I accept his help.

“Thank you.”

He nods, not unkind, but certainly not with any parental warmth. “Of course.”

We walk to the front doors of the school together. He shrugs on his coat and hat as we walk; I never took mine off.

As if an afterthought, he calls after me as I’m halfway out the door. “Do you know Finn D’Arcy’s current whereabouts?”

“No.” My lie is immediate. I don’t want any more blood on my hands. That includes Finn’s. When it comes time to close the veil, if it’s something we have to do together, I’ll make sure no harm comes to him.

He bids me goodbye and we walk off in different directions. I do not watch him leave. I do not spare a single thought of distrust or uneasiness. It is done now.

Once back at Maxine’s flat, I ask Greta to bring me dinner in my room.

I eat soup, wrapped in a goose-down duvet alone, and savor the small peace blooming in my rib cage.

I hear Finn come in sometime after dinner, his boots and accent echoing down the hall as he makes one of the lady’s maids laugh at something.