He looked at me.
"The family's security team," he said, after a pause. "They've known about the marker description for years. They've been actively looking." He stopped. "And whoever took you twenty-two years ago. They'd know what you carry in your blood. They'd know exactly what it means that you're here."
The room felt suddenly very still.
"Someone took me," I said. "And they're still out there. And they know I've been found."
He moved toward me. Not fast — deliberately. Stopped close enough that his voice came down.
"Nobody is getting near you," he said. "That is not a question I'm leaving open."
I looked up at him. At the gray eyes that were not cold right now, that were something else, something that had not been that way the day I'd walked in for a job interview.
"I know," I s
