“Shelve the pitchforks, Kinney,” he says gently and more quietly than softly, but then again, my dad’s voice is almost never soft. “Not pitchforks. A sharpened knife.” He squeezes her shoulder. “Shelve the knives, battleaxes, all weapons. We’re not pointing them at Paul Donnelly.” It takes me aback. The certainty of his voice. Is he really not against Donnelly anymore? Kinney frowns. She’s searching for an adversary of my broken heart. In the battle of good and evil, Kinney needs the villain of all villains to attack. “But Dad—” “If you want to point a blade at someone, it’s going to be me—not
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