“Bellamy’s people kept him sedated so he couldn’t speak.”

I pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, never letting go of my father’s hand.

The warmth of the blankets seemed to help, and the blue tint on his lips slowly began to fade.

His chest rose and fell in a steadier rhythm.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“He is strong,” Charles said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “But he needs time.”

I looked at my father’s face, tracing the lines of worry and age that hadn’t been there when I was a child.

For years, I believed he was dead, buried in a cemetery on the edge of the city.

Now, he was lying right in front of me, breathing.

His fingers twitched against mine.

“Emily?” he whispered, his eyes opening slowly.

“I’m here, Dad,” I said, leaning closer so he could see me. “You’re safe now.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, wetting the white pillowcase.

“I tried to find you,” he croaked, his throat dry. “Julian… Julian Bellamy found me first.”