Chapter 26
The room felt wrong after.
Not peaceful. Not safe. Just quiet in a way that made Lily's skin crawl.
The fire in the hearth had burned down to weak flames. They licked at the logs like tired dogs trying to stay awake. The light was warm, sure, but warmth didn't mean comfort. Not here. Not in this house where even shadows had eyes.
Lily sat at the edge of Arion's dining table. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. The collar was gone tonight—no iron, just silk against her throat—but the red marks remained. Faint lines like accusations. Her skin felt naked in this place. Too exposed. Too watched.
Even comfort felt like a trap.
Arion poured wine.
The bottle was old. Dark glass with a wax seal that had been broken clean. The wine itself looked almost black in the firelight, deep red like it had been squeezed from something that didn't want to let go.
It looked too much like blood.
He set a glass in front of her with the kind of care you'd use on something fragile. Something breakable.
Lily stared at it.
Her hand hovered over the rim.
Time stopped moving.
This was it. The moment. The signal. The line she'd been walking toward since Nina first grabbed her wrist in the laundry room and whispered, We're getting out.
Nina's voice echoed in her head now, sharp and insistent: If you can drug him, you do it. If you can make him sleep, you make him sleep. If you can buy ten minutes, you buy ten minutes.
The resistance was counting on her.
She could end things tonight. One vial. One sprinkle of powder into the wine. Something to make Arion pass out long enough for her to move through the mansion while he was helpless. Long enough to find what they needed.
But her fingers wouldn't close.
She kept seeing his hands from earlier. The way he'd tried to be careful even while shaking. The way he'd asked her to say stop and actually meant it. The way he looked at her sometimes like she wasn't property. Like she was a person he was still figuring out how to talk to.
Her heart beat harder.
She couldn't do it.
Not like this.
Not now.
Her hand moved.
Not to add anything.
Not to stir poison.
She knocked the glass over.
Wine spilled across the table in a dark wave. It ran over the carved wood like fresh paint, dripping down the side, splashing onto the expensive rug below.
Lily jerked back like she'd been shocked.
"I'm so clumsy," she said.
Her voice sounded too light. Too casual. Her heart was pounding hard enough to shake her ribs. She felt it in her throat.
For half a second she was sure he'd see it. The fear. The guilt. The calculation behind her eyes.
Arion stared at the mess.
Then he laughed.
A real laugh. Short and warm. Almost boyish, like he'd forgotten where he was for a moment.
Lily forced a small smile.
Then he glanced at her face.
His smile faded.
He saw something there. Not the wine. Not the tremor in her hands.
Something deeper.
"Lily," he said softly. "What is it."
She kept scrubbing. Kept her eyes on the rug. The pattern. The threads. Anything but him.
If she looked at him too long, she might say too much.
"I don't know who to trust anymore," Lily said.
Her voice came out flat. Controlled. Like she was reading a line she'd practiced in a mirror.
Then the truth pushed through anyway.
"Not even myself."
Arion stopped moving.
The cloth paused in his hand. He stared at her like she'd just confessed to murder.
"You don't have to trust yourself," he said quietly. "Not all the time. You just have to keep going."
Lily let out a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sob. It caught in her throat.
"That's easy for you to say," she muttered.
Arion's eyes sharpened. "No," he said. "It isn't."
He sat back on his heels. The firelight cut across his face and made him look older than he was. His jaw tightened like he was biting down on words.
"I've been doing things," he admitted.
Lily froze.
Her fingers tightened around the cloth until her knuckles went white.
"What things," she asked.
Arion hesitated. His throat moved as he swallowed. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his robe and pulled out something wrapped in oilskin. Heavy. Thick.
He set it on the table, away from the spill.
He unfolded it carefully.
Documents.
Old papers with new stamps. Different seals. Names written in ink that looked freshly dried, still dark.
Lily's eyes narrowed.
"These are travel papers," she said.
Arion nodded. "False," he admitted. "But good ones."
Lily stared at him. Her brain was trying to catch up. "Why."
*
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