Mrs. Elysian lied to him. He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything, but the steadiness in her voice and conviction in her eyes as she lied to his face kept him up all night.
Eric was incapable of respecting others enough to be honest with them. He surrounded himself with lies like landmines. Ramsey was tired of watching his steps for fear of detonation. Mrs. Elysian was meant to be different.
She’s supposed to respect him. Trust him.
But she lied. The moment Ramsey knew she was gone, he looked up the vehicle’s location. He couldn’t hack into the building’s security, but street cameras showed Sawyer D’Angelo and her bodyguard arriving. That, plus Jeremy’s report that Daniel spent time with Grant Woods makes Ramsey more than worried about Mrs. Elysian’s association with the rebels. He needs to intervene.
He can’t put it off anymore. Especially after his guard went missing while watching D’Angelo’s house yesterday. This has to do with the rebels, and they only have four days until the conference. There’s no time to delay the inevitable.
So, he makes his excuses and leaves Mrs. Elysian.
His awareness of his own body grows to an uncomfortably sharp level by the time he arrives. She’s staying in a townhome in the middle of a dozen identical units. She’s always felt safer as another faceless, nameless copy in a sea of unremarkable people.
Ramsey rings the doorbell and faces the camera. He keeps one hand in his pocket and pinches the skin of his thigh as hard as possible to help master the nerves.
He knows she sees him because there’s a small gasp on the other side of the door.
“Please, let me in,” he says.
The wait is excruciating. Then the door opens inward, and Ramsey sees the woman he loves for the first time in five years. His lungs refuse to inflate for a second. Then he sucks in a lungful of air, his eyes traveling every inch of her body.
The years have been brutal, but she’s as gorgeous as ever. She’s wearing a tank top and loose shorts. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head, and her green eyes are like peak springtime. Her skin has lost color, the faint freckles along her shoulders now more visible.
“What are you doing here?” Harlow Graham asks.
Ramsey lets out a breath, cursing his mind for being so easily distracted. “We need to talk.”
She grips the door handle with white knuckles, looks over Ramsey’s shoulder, and backs into her townhome. He doesn’t breathe until she nods and steps aside so he can enter.
“When did you get back?” he asks.
“Almost ten months ago.”
His eyes slide closed, pain rocking his core.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch. I just . . .”
Ramsey turns around. She’s not even looking at him. “It’s okay,” he says. “I get it. You wanted to join the Resurrection.” Harlow had more reason to hate Eric Elysian than anyone in the world. She was forced to abandon her child and go into hiding because Eric was going to kill her for knowing he was illegitimate.
“I wanted my son back.”
“Zachary, the Elysian heir?” Ramsey doesn’t understand. Joining the rebellion would’ve increased the danger to both her and Zachary.
“He found me, you know,” she says.
Ramsey expected as much but never knew for sure.
Harlow walks past Ramsey to the armchair behind him. She’s so small that the chair nearly swallows her when she sits. “He followed you the last time you visited. I was scared that if he found me, so could others. So, I moved and never told you because . . .” Her voice breaks with a gasp. Ramsey sits across from her on the edge of the coffee table. “Zachary told me his father was more paranoid every day. It got worse when the Resurrection began. Eric had a Head Regulator killed for no reason other than suspecting the man had rebel friends.”
Ramsey remembers that, except Eric told them there was proof the man was a traitor. That was when Ramsey was promoted, taking the dead man’s place as Head Regulator.
“I couldn’t risk your life by continuing to see you,” she says. The tear bubble along her eyelids breaks, dropping wet regret down her cheeks. “And two people visiting would double the chances that I’d be found.”
It hurts, but Ramsey doesn’t blame her for choosing Zachary over him.
“About a year and a half ago, Zachary stopped coming. I couldn’t get in touch with him. I was terrified. I knew he wasn’t dead, but that didn’t mean he was safe. I searched for a way to free him from Eric’s control for months. Nothing worked. The last option was if Eric and the Registration were gone completely.”
“So you moved back to join the Resurrection.”
“Not simply join, but help run it. I moved back to befriend the leader.”
“Sawyer D’Angelo.”
Harlow nods and sniffs.
“But not just for the Resurrection, right?”
Her eyes widen a fraction, as if afraid that he’d guess her true plans. Then her shoulders droop. “I believe in the Resurrection. You might think I’m crazy, but I’ve gotten to know these people, and I think they have a chance. Their dreams for a world without the Registration make sense. It could be . . . better.”
“Come on, be honest with me.” He doesn’t want to argue with her about politics. “What do you want from Lincoln D’Angelo?”
Ramsey has been meticulously going through Eric’s Midnight Files since Reggie provided the information needed to open the safe, and was surprised to find one on Lincoln D’Angelo. It was thinner than the others but still provided plenty of shocking information on him and his family. One particular thing about his uncle, Paul D’Angelo, has been burning a hole in the back of his mind, growing hotter every hour he doesn’t tell Mrs. Elysian.
“I wanted his help stopping Eric.” Her eyes fall to the floor, and he knows she’s not telling the full truth. Her hands sit in her lap, fingers gripping each other so tight that it must be painful. “But then Eric and Zachary—”
Her words shatter against a fresh sob. Ramsey’s heart breaks at the sound. He drops to his knees in front of her, one hand draping over hers and the other behind her head, fingers sliding into her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
Harlow’s cries are so intense that her entire body shakes. She goes limp, and he supports her weight. She falls apart, knowing that Ramsey is happy to keep her together.
“What happened?” she asks between sobs.
He hesitates, lightly scratching her scalp and staring at the blank wall behind her.
“Ramsey, please.” She turns her hand over, pressing their palms together, and leans back. The full force of her grief and attention pushes him over the edge so he’s in a free fall.
“I don’t think . . .”
Desperation in every tear, she repeats, “Please!”
Ramsey looks from one eye to the other, forgotten corridors in his heart crumbling under her pain. “It was quick,” he says. He wasn’t in the room when Zachary died, but he’s heard the story directly from Mrs. Elysian. “He was brave until the end. Protecting his family.”
“Eric—”
He shakes his head. “No. His cousin, Lynell, and her daughter, Anna. He was protecting them from Eric.”
Hatred flashes in her eyes. Her nails dig into Ramsey’s skin when she squeezes his hand. “And Eric?”
“I killed him,” he says. Harlow doesn’t need to know more details about either man’s death. Not now, at least.
He slides his hand from the back of her head to her cheek, wiping away the tears. Mustering every ounce of patience, he waits for her cries to subside and her breathing to settle before speaking again.
“What are your plans now? With the rebels and D’Angelo?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers.
“Yes, it does,” he says, hoping she can’t hear his eagerness. “Mrs. Elysian—Lynell needs my help. Her family is in danger now.” As informative as the Midnight Files are, there’s not enough in them for Ramsey to find Anna. He could try using what he’s learned to blackmail answers out of certain oligarchs or committee members, but it’s too dangerous. Using the files is his last resort.
“Tell her to get as far from the Registration and Elysian name as possible,” Harlow answers. But he hears more than sadness in her voice. There’s anger, too.
“She’s the best chance any of us have,” Ramsey promises. Then, leaning on the implicit trust he once had for the woman in front of him, he adds, “She’s working with Sawyer D’Angelo.”
Harlow’s head snaps up, her eyes wide. “What?”
“They met secretly last night.”
“Why would they work together?”
“Mrs. Elysian is young, but she’s lived a harder life than most,” Ramsey says. “She sees herself as the villain in the story.”
He’s not sure Mrs. Elysian realizes it, but it’s become obvious to him in the short time he’s known her. She was raised by pathetic excuses for humans. Her family tree has poisoned roots that spread their toxins through most branches. Her personal guilt is a cancer on her soul. “But she desperately wants to be the hero,” he adds.
“So, she’s helping Sawyer to be the hero?”
“Both have been threatened, I think by the same person. Mrs. Elysian probably thinks that too.”
“Who would threaten the leaders of the Resurrection and the Registration?”
Ramsey’s focus moves an inch above Harlow’s eyes. “I don’t know yet,” he lies. “I thought you might know, being so close to the D’Angelos.”
“Only Sawyer. Lincoln takes more work to win over.”
Ramsey carefully and slowly grazes his fingertips over Harlow’s pulse. “I need your help, Harlow. Zachary loved Lynell. She’s your family now too. Help me help her, please. What is D’Angelo planning?”
Her pulse jumps forward as she studies his face, then settles into a normal rhythm. Finally, she nods, and relief settles over Ramsey. He has her again. After five years, Harlow Graham still trusts him, just as he still loves her.