Wilson's POV
"Grandpa, we haven't even begun yet. What's got you so fired up?" I said into the phone.
Milo's voice crackled back, sharp and impatient. "Can't an old man ask to meet that girl? Listen here, I don't give a damn how you make it happen—bring her to me, or I'll track her down myself. The choice is yours, Wilson."
The line went dead.
I strolled to the floor-to-ceiling windows, whiskey in hand, my face betraying nothing. A controlled smile played at my lips.
"Specter Healer," I murmured to myself.
——
Back at Shaw Manor in Anastasia, Milo settled into his leather armchair, fingers absently working the fortune-telling beads. His voice was barely a whisper in the empty room.
"Destined for solitude—love will never find you."
That's what the fortune-teller had told him all those years ago. But Milo had kept the rest from Wilson.
The old woman's words echoed in his memory: "To shatter this curse, you must seek a bride from the Brent bloodline."
