When Wicker steps back, Pace furls. It’s like his whole body is holding the baby, shoulders both high and curled inward, as if he’s shielding him from something. Up until this moment, I’ve been pretty well-versed in the field of Pace’s emotions. He’s never been as explosive as Wicker or as composed as me. Pace feels, but he expresses it tactically. Nothing about the look on his face right now is tactical. “I was so worried I’d feel different once I saw him,” he says, voice ragged as he glances up at me. “Like I’d meet him and know he wasn’t mine.” Verity struggles up in bed, anguish on her
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