Grace POV

"You remind me of someone I knew once."

My throat tightens. "When I was younger, people used to say I looked like my father."

It's the safest response I can manage. Neutral. Non-committal.

Laf's expression doesn't shift. He doesn't confirm or deny. His eyes just study me with that sharp, ancient intelligence.

"Your eyes," he says finally. "That particular shade of green. It's quite rare."

Then he stands, smoothing his jacket with ...