~Reo’s~

“He’s not his father,” Reo mutters under his breath. “He’s not.”

He’s alone in the study. The heavy doors are shut. The air is thick with old dust and silence. Sunlight streams through the curtains in long, golden lines that land on the stack of boxes Blair had asked someone to bring up. Leo’s old things. Some of them probably untouched for years. Some of them stuffed with nonsense. But Reo doesn’t care.

He yanks the next box open; his jaw is tight, but his chest is tighter.

It’s not that he’s snooping. It’s not even about Leo. He just needs a reason to stay busy. To stop thinking...