Chapter 1
I don’t want anything from Orson Yates, not even help to stand. But he gazes at me with such concern. The flesh of his palm looks tender, vulnerable, and strangely young. Then his eyes light with something else, something more. I want to call it hope, but I can’t reconcile hope with Orson Yates.
“You’re Katy Lindstrom, aren’t you?”
The cold, hard tile makes my hips ache, and the question makes my temples throb. I don’t speak. I’m positive I don’t nod. Something must shift in my expression because the man before me continues, unperturbed.
“My uncle told me to expect you.”
“Your... uncle?”
“Uncle Orson.”
This? This I can’t process. I stare at the young man towering over me. He is an exact replica of Orson Yates, or at least the version the ghosts showed Belinda and me after
