Chapter 18

Before they even reached the front door, it flung open. A well-dressed woman with an elaborate updo stormed out. After shooting a nasty glare at Tristan and Megan, she darted toward Wyatt. "Oh my poor baby! What happened? You're coughing up blood?!" she cried dramatically, her voice shrill and full of sorrow. "Just look at his neck! Those bruises—he's covered in fingerprints! What kind of karma is this?!" Her wailing was so over-the-top, it could've been mistaken for a funeral. The noise pulled everyone inside the house out to see what was going on. Leading the group was Geoffrey Reid—the family patriarch—his silver hair sleeked back, eyes still sharp with age. He rested his hand upon his silver-topped cane as he emerged onto the porch "Tristan's back? And this must be Megan?" he asked. Megan gave a soft nod. "Nice to meet you, Grandpa." "Good, good." His gaze drifted toward the lawn, where mother and son played out their dramatic scene—one on the ground, the other wailing like it was