9: The Slip

Daphne's pov

I waited until evening.

All afternoon the red-sealed folder sat in my handbag like something that might go off. I sat through two calls and a signing session with it against my ankle, and I couldn't have repeated a word anyone said.

When I finally pushed open my father's bedroom door, he was propped against a mountain of pillows in a gray shirt, his tablet on his lap. His laptop sat open on the bedside table, well within reach.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're supposed to be resting, Daddy."

"Good evening to you too, sweetheart."

"Why is your laptop open?"

"Because I like looking at it."

"Daddy."

He chuckled. "All right. I was checking a few emails."

I slid the laptop out of reach. He watched me do it with the patience of a man who'd been caught.

"Yes, Doctor," he said.

"Don't start."

He laughed. I didn't. I'd barely let him out of my sight since the diagnosis. Even at the office, I'd checked my phone every hour to make sure he'd taken his medication. I wasn't going to lose him again.

I set the folder on the bed. "I brought something."

His eyes dropped to it, and his smile slipped. "Where did you get that?"

"Your office."

"Why were you going through my files?"

"One of the transactions was clipped to the wrong file. It led me here." I opened it and spread the pages across the blanket. "Generators. Industrial water filtration. A land survey outside the city. Protective barrier panels from a private laboratory. The first purchase order is six months old."

He picked up an invoice. I watched his face, and I noticed what wasn't there.

Surprise.

"You're not going to tell me what these are for?"

He sighed and set the page down. "I wondered when you'd find them."

"So you knew they were there."

"Of course. I signed for them."

"Then what are you building?"

He looked toward the window. "Something I hope we never need."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

I pulled the chair closer. "Why?"

He rubbed his forehead. "Because I don't have all the answers myself."

That wasn't what I'd expected. "Explain."

He was quiet for a moment. "About seven months ago, an old friend contacted me. Bernard. We went to school together. He was on scholarship and nearly got expelled over something that wasn't his fault, and I covered for him. He swore he'd repay me someday. I never thought about it again."

"And he did?"

"He asked to meet. Privately. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks." Daddy turned his water glass in his hands. "He told me something was coming. He wouldn't say what. Only that I should prepare for a time when power, water, and the usual order of things couldn't be trusted, and that I should buy isolated land to do it on."

My stomach tightened. "Something. Not a war. Not a disease."

"He wouldn't say. I called in every favor I had, and I have a few. Nobody would tell me anything. That's when I stopped asking."

"The panels came from a laboratory."

"Bernard arranged the supply. He said they would matter, and that I shouldn't ask why." A tired smile. "He's a scientist, Daphne. He's always been a little dramatic."

"And you believed him."

"I believed it was worth taking seriously. If I'm wrong, I've wasted money. If I'm right..." He shrugged. "I'd rather be wasteful than unprepared."

I looked at the pages. A remote property. Independent power. Clean water. Walls.

In my first life, I never knew how our refuge came to exist. I'd assumed Daddy built it after the sickness began. But he had been preparing for months, alone, with one friend's warning and nothing else.

"Can you reach Bernard again?"

"I've tried. His last message came weeks ago. He said he was trying to verify something before he spoke to me again."

I looked up sharply. "Weeks?"

"He's been difficult to reach."

A cold weight settled in my stomach. A man who knew something and had stopped answering. That was never good.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"

"Because I didn't want to frighten you over something I couldn't explain."

"Keeping it from me isn't helping."

"I know." He reached for my hand.

I pulled away, gently. "How long were you going to wait? Until something happened?"

"Daphne—"

"What if he's right? What if whatever it is is already out of someone's control?"

He watched me closely. "Why are you so convinced something terrible is going to happen?"

I froze. The question hung there between us.

I looked down at the folder. "I'm not convinced. I'm asking questions."

"You're asking questions like someone who already knows the answers."

My heart skipped. I forced a laugh. "You're imagining things."

"Perhaps." He didn't sound satisfied.

I stood and paced to the window and back. "Fine. Say he's right. What are you preparing for? A war? An epidemic?"

"I don't know."

"You've spent millions without knowing what you're protecting yourself from?"

"I've spent money on options. There's a difference."

"These panels aren't ordinary construction. The generators aren't for a normal building. The filtration is built to run for months on its own. What are you hiding from?"

"I told you. I don't know."

"Then why does everyone seem to know something except us?"

The words were out before I could stop them.

He frowned. "Everyone?"

I swallowed. *Careful.* I couldn't tell him about my first life. Not yet.

But the frustration kept climbing. I had watched the world fall once. I had watched people die of something nobody understood until it was too late. And my father sat here talking about possibilities.

"You're preparing without knowing what you're facing," I said. "What if it's worse than you think? What if someone has already built something dangerous and is hiding it? What if it's..."

"Where is this coming from?"

I looked at him.

"Chimera."

The word slipped out.

Silence.

His hand stopped halfway to his glass. His eyes stayed on mine, and neither of us moved.

Then he slowly lowered his hand.

The blood drained from my face. I had said it. I had actually said it.

"Chimera," he repeated quietly.

The easy curiosity was gone. In its place was something I'd never seen on his face before. Recognition. And fear.

"Daddy—"

"Where did you hear that word?"

My mouth went dry.

He leaned forward, never looking away. "Who told you about Chimera?"

I couldn't answer.

Because suddenly I understood something terrifying. My father hadn't only been preparing for an unknown disaster.

He knew the name.

"Daphne," he said, his voice low and unfamiliar. "Where did you hear that word?"