The door to Father's study clicked shut behind me with a sound too soft for the weight it carried. The dim light inside carved long shadows across the polished floor, every detail sharp, every edge honed like a blade. The scent of leather and old books hung thick in the air, mingling with the faintest trace of whiskey, a smell I'd come to associate with the late hours he kept in this room.
Father stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, the lamplight gilding the silver at his temples. His reflection wavered in the dark glass, a distorted twin, and for a long moment, he didn't turn. My throat tightened, but I forced my fingers to stay loose at my sides, the weight of the night settling on my shoulders like a velvet noose.
"Sit," he murmured at last, the words soft, precise, each syllable landing with the inevitability of a gavel.
I moved to the leather chair opposite his desk, the seat cool against the backs of my legs. I folded my hands in my lap, spine straight, heart thrumming a steady drumbeat in my chest. The polished surface of the desk gleamed between us, its dark grain reflecting the faint golden glow of the lamp—an impassable river of silence.
He pivoted slowly, the measured grace of a man who never needed to raise his voice to command attention. His steel-grey eyes found me, sharp as a scalpel, and for a moment, the only sound was the quiet tick of the clock on the wall, each second slicing through the hush like a blade.
"So." His voice was soft, almost thoughtful, the curl of his mouth a ghost of a smile. "Quite a performance tonight."
I tilted my head slightly, a faint shrug lifting one shoulder. "It was Evelyn's night. She planned everything beautifully."
A flicker of something—amusement? disbelief?—ghosted across his mouth before vanishing, leaving his face carved from stone. "And yet, somehow, the night didn't end quite as she intended." He moved forward, lowering himself into his chair with the unhurried certainty of a man settling into a hunt. Elbows resting lightly on the desk, fingers steepled. "Do you know what I value most, Lottie?"
I let the silence stretch a beat too long, the pause deliberate. "Loyalty."
"Discretion," he corrected smoothly, lips curving in a way that didn't reach his eyes. "And loyalty, yes. But discretion above all."
The words slid through the room like a silk noose, tightening without a sound. The lamplight caught on the heavy ring at his finger, casting fractured glints across the papers strewn neatly on the desk—an old family portrait, Evelyn's academic report, and something that looked suspiciously like a list of tonight's guests.
I offered a careful smile, the curve of my mouth light, unthreatening. "Of course."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then his fingers drummed once, twice, against the mahogany, the soft tap tapping like a clock winding down. "Evelyn's slip tonight… was unfortunate. For all of us." His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest crease etching at the corner of his mouth. "You were calm. Remarkably so."
I felt the faintest twitch at the corner of my lips, quickly reined in. "I suppose I've learned from the best."
He huffed a low breath, something close to a laugh but sharper, edged with something colder. "Flattery doesn't suit you." His gaze sharpened, the weight of it a blade pressing just beneath my skin. "Tell me, Lottie. Do you have… allies I should know about?"
The question slid under my ribs, sharp and glinting. My fingers tightened briefly where they rested in my lap before I forced them to ease, every muscle calibrated to stillness. "I'm fifteen, Father. My biggest ally is the textbook."
Outside the door, I caught the softest scrape of movement—the whisper of a footstep on polished wood. Evelyn. My pulse fluttered once, then steadied. Let her listen. Let her strain to hear every word.
Father's fingers tapped once more, then stilled. The pause between us stretched long and thin, drawn tight as piano wire. "We will need to present a united front to the family. I trust you understand the importance of… loyalty."
The air thinned, the study walls closing in until the bookshelves seemed to lean inward, the soft glow of the lamp a single, precarious flame. I dipped my chin, voice smooth, even. "Of course, Father."
He rose slowly, the leather of his chair sighing under the shift, and crossed the narrow space between us. His hand came down lightly on my shoulder—not hard, not heavy, but with the quiet inevitability of a seal pressed to wax. The warmth of his palm bled through the thin silk of my sleeve, and though his fingers barely tightened, the meaning was a weight all its own.
"Well, then," he murmured, the faintest thread of steel winding through his words. "Let's keep it that way."
As I rose, the cool brush of the chair back against my legs was a grounding tether. The air seemed to shiver as I reached for the doorknob, the metal cool against my damp palm. I drew a slow, careful breath, smoothing the flicker of tension from my face.
Outside, Evelyn stood, arms folded, one hip cocked against the wall. Her smile was all teeth, the gleam of it catching in the dim hallway light. Her eyes flicked over me, sharp and bright, a predator's glint behind a velvet gaze.
"Everything all right?" she murmured, voice laced with honey, with a faint undercurrent of acid.
I smiled, slow and sure, the curve of my mouth as light as a blade unsheathing. "Perfectly."
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved, the air between us tightening, humming with unspoken words. I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth—the ghost of frustration, of calculation—before she masked it with a flick of lashes, a tilt of her head.
I slipped past her, the faint scent of her perfume curling in the air—a soft floral with an edge of spice, cloying where it clung to the skin. My heart beat a measured rhythm in my chest, the faint brush of her shoulder a phantom touch as I walked away.
In the dark hallway, my phone buzzed, the vibration a sharp ripple through the quiet. A single message lit the screen: Leo:We need to talk.
I exhaled slowly, the breath sliding from my lips cool and steady. The taste of triumph lingered on my tongue, sharp as the snap of cold air through an open window. The war wasn't over. It had only just begun.
⸻
Back in my room, I leaned against the door, the soft click of the latch slotting into place a faint, satisfying whisper. My fingers hovered over Leo's message, thumb twitching once before I locked the screen. The faint glow of the bedside lamp painted long shadows on the walls, the posters from a childhood I no longer belonged to flickering in and out of the dim light.
A flash of Evelyn's face behind my eyes—the stretched smile, the narrowed eyes, the cool calculation barely hidden beneath the surface—tightened something low in my chest. Let her listen. Let her watch. Let her try to pull the strings. I'd learned how to cut them.
Every victory sharpened the knives around me, but I had learned to dance on the edge.
A soft knock sounded on my door, too light to wake suspicion but sharp enough to slice through my thoughts. My spine stiffened, the pulse at my throat kicking up.
"Lottie?" Evelyn's voice, low, falsely sweet, just on the other side of the wood. "Can we talk?"
I forced a smile into my voice, each syllable cool and light as silk. "Of course, Evelyn."
Sliding the door open, I met her gaze, my eyes calm, my lips curved in something small and unreadable.
Her eyes flicked over me, slow, deliberate, calculating. "Quite a night, hm?"
I lifted a brow, one corner of my mouth tilting upward. "Memorable."
For a moment, we stood there, the air between us drawn tight as a bowstring. Then she leaned in, close enough that I caught the faint warmth of her breath, lips brushing near my ear.
"Careful, sister," she murmured, the smile never touching her eyes. "You wouldn't want to slip."
A soft laugh slipped from my lips, the sound light and edged, slipping between us like a blade. I brushed past her, the faint rustle of silk and skin sparking in the narrow space.
"Oh, Evelyn," I murmured over my shoulder, voice as light as air, "I'm just getting started."
Her inhale was sharp, soft enough to be missed if I weren't listening for it—the tight pull of breath that betrayed the crack just under the surface. The moment stretched, brittle and humming, the hallway dim and long around us.
By the time I reached the stairs, my phone buzzed again. Another message from Leo, the screen glowing pale in the dark.
Leo:Midnight. Usual place.
My fingers tightened around the phone, the cool weight of it grounding me, the ghost of a smile curving at the corner of my mouth. Down the hall, a door clicked shut, the faint sound slipping through the quiet like a whisper of surrender, or maybe a warning.
I drew a slow breath, the night air curling cool against my skin, the taste of the evening sharp as steel at the back of my throat. The house settled around me, a creature exhaling, unaware that its own walls had begun to crack.
Let's see who slips first.