Kestrel's POV
I stare at the phone and clutch it tightly as I look at Miguel. I'm in the back seat of his black Mercedes and he's driving, his eyes occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror to check on me. The leather seats are cold against my bare legs and I'm suddenly very aware that I'm still wearing nothing but Zeph's jacket and my trousers.
I don't know whether to believe Miguel or not, but he sounds truthful. His voice was steady when he told me my father was sick, that he needed to see me urgently. And despite everything, despite the abuse, despite the control, despite all the years of pain, I don't care about my dad but I'm also not willing to hear any bad news about his death.
"Miguel," I say, leaning forward. "Before we go to my father's estate, I need you to take me somewh
