“She may have done just that,” Damien says. “But if you suddenly couldn’t find Jamie, what would you do?”

Considering that happened not so very long ago, he knows exactly what I would do. Completely freak out. “Point taken, Mr. Stark.”

“There’s another reason, too,” he says. His voice is casual, his movements equally so as he moves to the window where I was standing only moments before. I join him, and we both look out over this industrial section of the city. But it’s not the view that has captured my attention. It’s the reflection of Damien’s face in the glass. His voice and manner may be casual; his expression is not.

I don’t say anything, and after a moment, he continues. “She and I had an agreement. I’d foot the bill, and she’d finish the treatments. I don’t like having my conditions ignored.”

I nod. Knowing what I know of Damien, what he is saying makes perfect sense. The only thing I don’t understand is why, and though I’m almost certain he will shut me down, I decide to voice the question. “Why are you paying for the treatment? And not just this one round. There’ve been others, too, right?”

The silence that hangs after my question seems unusually heavy, and I am not sure how much longer I can stand the weight of it bearing down upon me.

When he finally speaks, the words are soft, but there is a harshness to them that I don’t understand. “I’ve been paying Sofia’s way for as long as I’ve had the money to do so.”

My question is once again “Why?”—and it bursts past my lips before I can think better of it.

I am looking at him now, not at his reflection. But Damien is still looking through the glass, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s seeing the city or the past. Is it me that he is standing beside? Or is Sofia next to him?

I squeeze my hands into fists, because I do not want to be jealous of a ghost, and yet I feel those tiny green seeds begin to sprout inside me.

Damien still hasn’t answered my question, and I think that perhaps I have gone too far. But then he finally speaks, and I am suddenly cold—chilled to the bone for Damien, and for the innocent girl who was his friend.

“She was Richter’s daughter,” Damien says. “And he didn’t leave her a dime.”

It takes me a minute to fully comprehend what he is saying. “Sofia is Richter’s daughter, but he left all of his money to you?”

“He did,” Damien says.

“So that’s why you take care of her? Why didn’t you just sign the money over to her?”

“That wasn’t an option,” he says. “For one thing, she had issues even back then. She’s brilliant but impulsive, and she doesn’t make the best choices. So I set up a trust. She can access money for her needs. I bought an apartment for her. I pay for her treatment. The bottom line is that she has a life and property because I didn’t give her that money. If I had, she probably would have died from an overdose. At the very least, she would have either drunk, injected, or snorted it away.”

I nod because that all makes sense.

“But the truth is that I would have helped her even if there had been no inheritance.” For the first time since he has started speaking, he turns to face me. “She knew about what he did to me. Her friendship helped keep me sane.”

“Oh, God.” I’m not sure if he can hear the words through the hand that I have pressed against my mouth. But I am certain that he can see the horror—and the sadness—in my eyes. “She knew what kind of a monster her father was.”

“She did,” he says. “And we survived him together. In the end, I was better suited at survival than she was. But dammit, Nikki, she was there for me.”

I am nodding, tears trickling down my cheeks. “Alaine, too?”

Damien shakes his head. “He didn’t know anything. I value his friendship, of course. But my relationship with Sofia runs deeper.”

I take his hand and hold it tight. Those tiny green tendrils have completely shriveled up. There is no jealousy. Instead, I am as desperate to find this woman as Damien. This poor girl who shared what little strength she had with Damien, and suffered through her own kind of hell simply from knowing that the blood of a monster flowed through her veins.

“You’ll find her,” I say. “When have you ever not gotten something you want?”

As I had hoped, that draws a small smile to his lips. He pulls me into his arms and holds me tight.

“The trial must have been hell for her,” I say. “Her father. You.” I keep my cheek pressed against his chest as his reply rumbles through me.

“We didn’t talk about it. She didn’t like to think about the fact that Merle Richter was her father. I spoke to her a few hours before you arrived in Germany, actually. I kept expecting her to bring it up. She never did.”

I don’t know what to say next, so I am relieved when Ms. Ives’s voice comes across the intercom, telling Damien that she has Alaine on a video call, and does Damien want her to put it through to the wall screen?

Damien tells her to go ahead, and immediately a decorative mirror on the far side of the room turns opaque, then blue. And then, suddenly, I see Alaine’s face.

“Damien,” he says, “I was so pleased to hear about the dismissal.”

“Thank you. You remember Nikki?”

“Of course. It is a pleasure to see you again, Nikki. Hopefully next time it will be in person with a glass of my best wine.”

“I’d like that.” When I met Alaine, I hadn’t been able to place his accent. Since then, Damien has told me that he grew up in Switzerland. It’s still not an accent I would recognize easily, but listening now, I can hear the influences of both French and German.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t available when you called earlier. Your message said it was about Sofia?”

“She’s gone again,” Damien says. “Checked herself out a few days ago and took off. I haven’t been able to find her, and I thought she might have called you.”

“You are in luck, my friend,” he says. “I know exactly where she is.”

I meet Damien’s eyes and see the flash of relief. “Where?”

“Shanghai.”

“Shanghai?” Incredulity laces his voice. “Why? When did you talk to her?”

Alaine’s brow furrows. “Three, no four, days ago. Do you remember David, that drummer she was intrigued with a few years back? Apparently his band is booked for a week in a club there. She said she might be in Chicago, too, if a job the band is hoping for comes through.”

Damien presses his fingertips to his temple. His expression is an odd mix of softness and concern. It’s a paternal expression, the kind I imagine I’d see if he was worried about our own kids one day.

Our kids? I stiffen, but in surprise, not fear. The thought came unbidden, but it is not terrifying. On the contrary, it’s soothing, as if I’ve been given a sneak peek into the future, and it is a future with Damien and a family.

“She called you?” Damien asks Alaine. “I’ve been trying to reach her by cell, but it just rolls over to voice mail.”

“It was a video call,” he says. “I asked if she’d talked to you, but she didn’t want to bother you during the trial. I’m surprised she hasn’t called you now that it’s over, but knowing Sofia, she hasn’t seen the news.”