Daddy's Precious Little Girl

The Truth

Franklin's POV

The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky as I trudged up the mountain path, the chill in the air sharp enough to cut through my jacket. My father's message had been brief, his tone unmistakable: "Return to the Kettle immediately. Come alone and leave everything behind." There had been no room for questions, and the urgency in his voice left no doubt that he expected immediate obedience.

I'd barely had time to gather my things before heading out. I hadn't even informed the Head Mistress that Marcy would need someone to watch her. She could figure it out; she was always preaching about the School's responsibility to Littles. They could manage one Little for a few days. Marcy would be fine. After all, I'd ensured she knew the routines and rules well enough to manage without me for a short time.

As the path grew steeper, winding through dense trees and rocky terrain, I found my thoughts drifting back to why my father had summoned me. It had been months since I'd last seen him, and he rarely called upon me unless it was absolutely necessary. There was no guessing what had spurred this command—displeasure, perhaps, or another lesson in the discipline he held so highly.

When the forest finally opened up onto a cliff's edge, I took a moment to catch my breath, feeling the familiar tension build within me. My father had made this journey countless times, and I knew he expected no less from me. With a deep inhale, I allowed the familiar shift to take over as my body morphed, muscles twisting and bones reshaping until I felt the spread of my hawk's wings. I launched myself into the air, the cold wind rushing beneath me as I climbed toward the peak where our Kettle had lived for generations.

The mountain's stone ledge loomed closer, stark against the gray sky, and I knew I was near. My father's territory—the place where standards were strict, and weakness was a foreign concept. The thought of facing him stirred a strange mix of anticipation and dread; he wasn't the sort to summon someone without reason.

With a final beat of my wings, I descended onto the ledge, my claws scraping against the stone before I shifted back to human form. The mountain air was biting, and silence pressed heavily around me, broken only by the faint whistle of wind through the rocks.

He was standing near the edge, his back to me, arms crossed as he gazed out over the horizon. The air around him was as still as his posture, his presence an unwavering force. I moved forward, keeping my footsteps steady, though I felt a pang of irritation at the silence.

"Father," I said, keeping my tone respectful. "You summoned me."

He didn't turn at first, and I could tell by the rigid set of his shoulders that he was waiting—drawing out the moment, as he often did. When he finally did turn, his gaze was as sharp and unforgiving as ever, assessing me as though searching for a flaw.

"Yes," he replied, his voice as cold as the air between us. "And it took you long enough to arrive."

I straightened, biting back a retort. He hadn't given me any notice, hadn't even allowed me to make arrangements for Marcy, yet here he was, acting as though I'd kept him waiting intentionally. But I knew better than to challenge him, not here.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked, his tone carefully measured, watching me closely.

I shook my head. "No, sir."

A faint, humorless smile crossed his face, one I'd seen too many times before. "Then I suppose it's time you learned," he said, each word clipped and cold, like stones falling into place around me.

Before I could respond, Elias and Anton, my cousins, gripped my arms tightly and hauled me up off my feet, dragging me after my father as he strode deeper into the cold, echoing stone corridors. My pulse quickened, an unease settling in my chest. Whatever lay ahead, I had the sickening feeling it wouldn't end well for me.