Claiming Emery
Like beautiful mannequins that had learned to speak.
“Everyone, meet Emery,” Eleanor announced like she was presenting evidence. “Killian's... choice.”
A man who looked like an older, softer version of Killian rose from his chair. “Richard Sinclair,” he said, offering his hand. “Killian's father.”
“I have said this countless times, I will prefer you say stepfather,” Killian murmured.
“Same thing,” Richard replied, but his eyes said otherwise.
“Emery.” I shook his hand, noting how quickly he let go. “Nice to meet you.”
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