Page 31
Every memory I have from before Valentino brought us into his home is fractured and dim, stitched from impressions, shouts in group rooms, the smell of buses, shared beds with springs digging into ribs, the sting of cold cereal in plastic trays.
Every authority figure called us by that name. Every tutor, every man handling paperwork, every overseer.
I always thought it belonged to us. A fixed point that gave shape to the rest of my identity. Now the floor under me dips without warning.
Rio is calm. No outrage. No disbelief. No fear. Just a stare that looks far away.
“What do you need from us?” I ask Waddington.
“I want permission to expand the search nationally,” he says. “If nothing appears locally, perhaps other counties hold fragments. Perhaps a clerical misfile placed you under a mother’s name or a guardian’s name instead of Boar. It will take time.”
“How much time?” Rio asks.
“A week for surface checks, several weeks for a deeper dig. More if the records were sealed.”
“Do it,” I say, my voice sounding flat.
Waddington exhales again. “I’ll begin immediately. I’ll send updates as I uncover anything. I apologize in advance if results come slowly. This is not a routine absence. It is engineered.”
The word ‘engineered’ makes my stomach tighten.
“Do it.” I cut the line and look at Rio.
His face reveals nothing. None of the shock I expected. None of the confusion that is tearing through me. No anger that our earliest identity might never have been ours.
He reaches for the cover and tucks it around Lana’s feet again.
My skin tightens with unspoken questions.
“How are you so composed?” I ask.
His gaze lifts to mine.
“I always assumed Valentino named us,” he says simply.
“What?” I stare at him. “You assumed he just invented our surname?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that years ago?”
“Would it have changed anything?” he asks.
“Yes,” I snap.
He studies me, curious instead of defensive.
“You believed we are the Boars,” he says.
“I did,” I answer. “I do.”
“It was given to us,” Rio corrects quietly.
I look at Lana again.
Small. Quiet. Safe in this moment.
Her hair spills across the pillow, damp still. Her lips tremble with the last remnants of pain her body hasn’t processed.
