Chapter 18 — The Reyes Secret

Chapter 18 — The Reyes Secret

Miyaka couldn't stop staring at the words carved into the metal plate.

REYES BLOOD.

They were only two words.

Two words shouldn't have been enough to make her feel as though the ground beneath her had shifted.

Yet they did.

She had spent her entire life knowing she was a Reyes. It was her father's name, her mother's name, the name printed on school records, documents, invitations, and every official piece of paper that had ever belonged to her.

It had never meant anything more than family.

Now it felt like a warning.

Moises was still holding her wrist.

His grip wasn't painful, but there was a firmness in it that told her he was genuinely worried.

“Don't touch it.”

Miyaka looked at him.

“You already said that.”

“And you're still looking at it like you're going to.”

“I wasn't.”

“You were.”

She gave him a tired look.

“You've become very observant.”

“I always was.”

“Not when Jason was around.”

“That was different.”

“Because Jason was usually doing something stupid?”

“Exactly.”

Despite everything, she smiled.

It disappeared almost immediately.

Her eyes returned to the plate.

“What does it mean?”

Moises released her wrist.

“I don't know.”

She sighed.

“Right.”

He gave her a look.

“I know. You're tired of hearing that.”

“I am.”

“So am I.”

That answer made her pause.

There was something strangely honest about hearing him admit it.

Moises crouched beside the roots and examined the metal plate without touching it.

The symbol was engraved deeply enough that the rain hadn't worn it away.

“This wasn't put here recently.”

“How can you tell?”

“The metal is corroded around the edges.”

Miyaka crouched beside him.

“So it's old.”

“Very.”

“Before you left?”

“Probably.”

She stared at the inscription.

“Then why didn't my father tell me?”

Moises looked at her.

“Maybe he wanted to.”

“That's not good enough.”

“I know.”

She rubbed her hands together.

“Everyone keeps saying they were protecting me. My father. Your father. Whoever that man was. But nobody actually protected me.”

Moises's eyes narrowed slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“They protected me from the truth.”

She looked at him.

“And that isn't the same thing.”

He didn't argue.

That was becoming one of the things she noticed about him.

When she said something he knew was true, he didn't try to soften it.

Miyaka stood.

“I want to go home.”

Moises immediately got up.

“I'll take you.”

“You don't have to.”

“I know.”

She frowned.

“You always say that.”

“Because you always assume I'm doing something because I have to.”

She didn't have an answer.

They walked back toward the car.

For several minutes, neither spoke.

The rain had softened to a steady drizzle.

Miyaka looked over her shoulder once.

The mango tree stood alone in the darkness.

She had spent so much of her childhood there that she had once believed the place belonged only to them.

Now she wondered how many eyes had been watching them from the shadows.

How many times had someone seen her laughing with Moises?

How many times had someone recorded their meetings?

How long had her father known?

The questions followed her into the car.

Moises started the engine.

The interior was quiet.

Miyaka rested her forehead against the window.

She was exhausted.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

There was a difference.

Physical exhaustion could be fixed with sleep.

This couldn't.

She felt as though every memory she had ever trusted was being taken apart and examined piece by piece.

After several minutes, she spoke.

“My father wasn't a bad man.”

Moises glanced at her.

“I never thought he was.”

“I used to think he was just strict.”

“He was.”

“Sometimes I thought he didn't trust me.”

Moises kept his eyes on the road.

“He was afraid.”

She turned toward him.

“You knew him?”

“Not well.”

“But enough?”

“He respected your father.”

Miyaka looked back at the window.

“I wish he had told me.”

“So do I.”

She was quiet.

Then she said, “Did your father respect him?”

Moises didn't answer immediately.

“Sometimes.”

The word carried more meaning than it should have.

“What happened between them?”

“I don't know the whole story.”

She glanced at him.

“There's that phrase again.”

He smiled faintly.

“I'll try something else.”

“Go ahead.”

“I know some of it.”

She waited.

“My father believed your father had taken something from him.”

“What?”

“I don't know.”

Miyaka groaned softly.

“You're terrible at this.”

“I warned you.”

She laughed despite herself.

It was quiet, but real.

Moises looked at her briefly.

Something warm passed through his eyes.

She noticed.

He looked away before she could decide what it meant.

The silence returned, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore.

Not entirely.

After a while, Miyaka said, “I remember something else.”

Moises's attention shifted toward her.

“From the tree.”

“What?”

“The box.”

He waited.

“When I was little, after I saw the man, I went home. My father was waiting.”

Moises's expression changed.

“What did he say?”

“I don't remember everything.”

She frowned.

“But I remember being upset. I told him someone had been at the tree.”

“And?”

“He got angry.”

“Angry at you?”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“Angry at himself.”

Moises's hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

“What did he do?”

“He locked the doors.”

Miyaka stared ahead.

“I had never seen him do that before.”

She could almost feel the memory again.

Her father's face.

The curtains drawn.

The sound of the locks clicking into place.

Then his voice.

You don't go there anymore.

She swallowed.

“He told me never to go back.”

Moises was silent.

“And then?”

“I asked why.”

“What did he say?”

Miyaka closed her eyes.

“He said…”

She hesitated.

The memory was coming back slowly.

“He said, ‘Because they already know who you are.’”

Moises's expression hardened.

Miyaka opened her eyes.

“I didn't understand.”

“You were a child.”

“I know.”

She looked at him.

“But he knew.”

“Yes.”

“And you think your father knew too?”

“I think they both knew more than they told us.”

Miyaka looked away.

The realization hurt.

Not because her father had lied.

Because she suddenly understood why.

Fear.

Her father had been afraid.

Moises's father had been afraid.

And somehow, that fear had been strong enough to separate two children who had believed they were untouchable.

She rubbed her arms.

“Do you ever wonder what would've happened if they hadn't separated us?”

Moises's hands went still for half a second.

“Yes.”

She looked at him.

“How often?”

He smiled without humor.

“More than I should.”

She stared out the window again.

“Me too.”

The words came quietly.

Neither of them tried to make the moment bigger than it was.

There was no confession.

No dramatic promise.

Just two people admitting that they had spent fourteen years imagining a different life.

Eventually, Moises pulled up outside her house.

Miyaka unbuckled her seatbelt.

Neither moved to get out.

She looked at him.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For tonight.”

He nodded.

“You don't have to thank me.”

“I know.”

He smiled.

She opened the door.

Then stopped.

“Moises.”

He looked at her.

“If I remember something else…”

“Tell me.”

“What if it's something bad?”

His expression softened.

“Then we'll deal with it.”

She studied him.

“We?”

He held her gaze.

“We.”

Miyaka stepped out.

She closed the door and walked toward the house.

She didn't see Moises leave until she reached the front door.

Only then did she look back.

His car was still there.

He waited until she entered before driving away.

Miyaka stood inside the dark house for a moment.

Her hand remained on the doorknob.

She didn't know why that small gesture affected her so much.

Perhaps because fourteen years ago, she had watched someone leave and wondered if she would ever see him again.

Tonight, someone had stayed until she was safely inside.

It wasn't enough to erase the past.

But it meant something.

She went upstairs.

Her father's old room remained mostly untouched.

She rarely entered it anymore.

Tonight, she did.

She switched on the lamp.

Dust floated through the warm light.

Her eyes moved over the shelves, the desk, the old photographs.

Then she stopped.

There was something beneath the desk.

A loose floorboard.

Miyaka crouched.

Her fingers traced the edge.

She pulled it upward.

Underneath was a narrow compartment.

Inside was a small leather notebook.

Her father's handwriting was on the cover.

She picked it up carefully.

The first page contained only one sentence.

If Miyaka ever finds this, then I failed to keep her away from the truth.

Her breath caught.

She turned the page.

There was a date.

Fourteen years ago.

Then another line.

The Laurents are not the enemy.

Miyaka stared at it.

She turned another page.

And froze.

Because beneath the next entry was a name she had never expected to see.

Adrian Valmont.

And underneath it, written in her father's handwriting:

He is not the man everyone thinks he is.