(BLUE'S POV)
My mind flew back to the next morning. My mother, Sofia, had gone back to the Thompson house the very next day after I'd fled in guilt. She and my father, Jeremy, told me with those calm, careful masks they always wore, "It's handled. No loose ends." They'd never given me the details. I'd asked — over and over through the decades — what happened to that boy, how Sofia had "handled" it. They'd always brushed it off.
I'd spent centuries wondering if he'd died screaming in that house or risen screaming somewhere else. And now here he stood, alive, well, and looking at me like I was some kind of savior instead of the monster who'd almost ended him.
My voice came out hoarse. "You're lying."
Victor slowly shook his head, his expression painfully sincere.
"I'm not," he said softly.
Then his eyes held mine with unsettling certainty.
"And deep down… I think you already know that."
"Where have you been?"
