Solivair felt another headache coming on. Why is this kid so damn hard to deal with? Anyone else—under this kind of pressure, this kind of interrogation, under his stare—would’ve cracked by now. Normally, he’d have gotten whatever he wanted ages ago. He stood abruptly and turned away from Arthur, furious. What he didn’t know was that behind his back, Arthur’s palms were already slick with sweat. If someone looked closely, they’d even see the slight tremble in his fingers. He wasn’t afraid of Solivair torturing him—but he was afraid of what Solivair might do to Ashley. He’d been scared out of his mind when Solivair threatened to cut off Ashley’s fingers, one by one. But Arthur forced himself to keep a straight face. He knew Solivair had been watching him closely, trying to catch the slightest crack in his expression—any weakness he could exploit. Once he’d calmed himself down, Arthur continued, “Mr. Solivair, I found a lead on Lynn. If we follow it, there’s a chance we can find her. But if you make another move against me or anyone close to me—if you so much as threaten us—then I won’t help you track that lead. Period.” He said it like it was nothing more than a simple fact. Solivair clenched his jaw, furious. His teeth ground together, and his eyes darkened with rage. “Arthur, do you really think you’re in any position to make demands?” Arthur suddenly smiled, cool and composed—a sharp contrast to Solivair’s bristling fury. “Mr. Solivair, do you think I’m not?” he asked lightly. He paused for a beat, then added, “If you truly believe I’m not in a position to bargain with you, then why am I sitting here across from you, having this conversation face-to-face?” Arthur blinked slowly; for a second, it almost seemed like there was a glint of sly triumph in his eyes. That glint—Solivair had seen it before. In her eyes. Eyes that were always so full of life, full of stories he never quite managed to read all the way through. She had her own little moods; she liked to play tricks on him, and every time she succeeded, she’d flash that sweet, satisfied smile. And in that smile, there was always that mischievous glint—just like the one in Arthur’s eyes now. Solivair’s focus slipped. The malice in his expression slowly faded; he stared blankly at Arthur’s face. After a long silence, he murmured under his breath, “Kelly.” Arthur’s brow furrowed. Kelly? Who’s Kelly? Solivair looked dazed. Then, seeing the confusion on Arthur’s face, he snapped out of it. His expression went cold. Somewhere deep inside him, an old, festering wound flared up again. Kelly—he’d thought about her day and night. Every night, he could only fall asleep holding her photo. She had loved him so much. She’d given birth to their beautiful daughter. And he—he had lost that daughter. Every time he thought of it, the pain was enough to take his breath away. He took a deep breath and straightened his posture, turning his back to Arthur. “Fine. Say it. What do you want?” He was tired—tired of arguing, tired of threats. All he wanted now was to find his daughter. Arthur stared at the figure in front of him—suddenly subdued, unexpectedly hollow. For a moment, he saw in Solivair the grief of a father—an aching, quiet sorrow that weighed heavy on his shoulders. If this man weren’t the one threatening his life and the lives of everyone he cared about, Arthur might not have wanted to hide anything about his daughter’s whereabouts. But Arthur knew better than anyone, if he gave in to sympathy, the cost would be devastating. Ashley, Taylor, the Gibson family—everyone who had ever shown him kindness—they’d all be in danger. Especially Ashley and Taylor. They were too close to him; too involved. Arthur broke the silence. “Mr. Solivair, if you’re willing to stop threatening my life—and the lives of the people I care about—then I’ll gladly help you find your daughter.” The second he said that, Solivair spun around. His eyes locked onto Arthur’s—hard, intense, unreadable. He’d looked at Arthur like that so many times today, but this time, there was something different. Something more.There was danger in his gaze; but there was also hope—an overwhelming, desperate kind of hope. And something else, too. A swirl of emotions too tangled to name. His chest tightened again. That same dull ache. The rift between him and Arthur had started the moment they crossed paths at that abandoned warehouse—when he first raised his hand against him. Back then, he had no idea Arthur held the key to Lynn.