"...Storm, the Ironhand, the Powerful." He clenched a fist and held it in the air. "I am the tie that forever holds. But, child..."

He stopped and seemed to almost lower himself to her level. "Am I your father? What is that but an abstract idea."

"Why I consider it a most grounded question!" Ophelia was beginning to feel helpless. "And your lack of candor is not only very distressing for me, especially considering what I have been through tonight already, but it is also quite rude. Now tell me if I am of your blood!"

The man smiled and Ophelia saw a warm glow behind his eyes.

"Yes," he said. "It is true."

Instead of feeling the lightness that usually followed relief, Ophelia was suddenly overcome by a heaviness in her body and soul. She was tired and needed to sleep.

That was when Ophelia noticed another person standing at the door of the building. And this person did not look as if they were welcoming her.