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“A DNA test?”

“Yours.”

The kitchen goes very quiet.

“Excuse me?”

“We used the glass you drank from at the clubhouse.”

I stare at him.

“You had my DNA tested without asking me?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Somebody tried to kill me, sweetheart. You were in my cabin, and you wouldn't tell me why.”

“So you decided to investigate me behind my back?”

“I should've asked. I know that.”

“That's supposed to make it better?”

“No. But you need to hear the rest.”

I fold my arms.

“Then enlighten me.”

“The lab ran your sample through the records. It flagged a parent-child match with unidentified blood evidence from the fire four years ago.”

My heart stumbles.

I've been almost certain since the day I found that obituary. The resemblance was too strong, and everything I uncovered afterward pointed to the same man.

But thinking you've found your father and hearing proof of it are two very different things.

“Whose blood?” I whisper.

“Evidence from the scene. The records connect it to the investigation involving a man reported dead in that fire.”

He tells me the name.

The name from my mother's obituary clipping.

I grab the edge of the counter.

Torch watches me.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You recognize it.”

I can't lie anymore.

“Yes.”

“That's why you came looking for me.”