I left the office with more questions than answers buzzing in my skull. The corridor smelled faintly of old coffee and lemon cleaner, and every step away from that room felt like shedding another layer of certainty. It was pretty safe to say the people who raised me weren’t my parents — not in any legal or honest way. The thought landed in my chest like a stone: if they weren’t my family, then who were my real parents? And why were those impostors suddenly so desperate to get me back?
I started up the narrow staircase without really meaning to, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. Asher fell into step behind me and, before I could think about pushing him away, his hand closed around mine and stopped me. His grip was warm, steady — the kind that said he’d anchor me if I started to drift.
