Lila POV
"What you saw was Lila and Zoe being close," Martha’s voice was soft and slow, yet every word was crystal clear. It was like a stone dropped into a deep pool, sending out silent ripples. "But have you taken a good look... at how those crew mbers treat Lila?"
Lilith froze for a mont. "Isn’t it just that Zoe favors her and spoils her rotten?" she replied instinctively. "That’s why she has clout with the crew!"
"Spoils?" Martha softly repeated the word, the corner of her mouth pulling into a faint, cold arc. "Lilith, you underestimate Zoe. And you underestimate... Lila."
Then, Martha raised a hand and, with her fingertips, ever so gently tucked away a strand of hair at Lilith’s temple that had been tousled by the sea breeze. The gesture was soft and practiced, carrying the uniquely comforting and reassuring touch of a mother.
"Lilith, the respect those crew mbers show Lila is no less than what they show Zoe." She said her daughter’s na, her tone calm yet carrying an undeniable weight. "That’s not sothing that can be achieved simply by being ’spoiled.’ It’s very likely Lila has obtained so kind of status that commands their respect, not just the status of a ’best friend.’"
Lilith was so stunned she nearly scread aloud.
"Hush. You must learn to observe, my child," Martha stopped her just in ti. "We must wait for the right mont to strike. Only then can we secure the high position we want for ourselves."
She recalled the encrypted ssage that had appeared on her private terminal late at night two days ago.
"Reactivate. Monitor Lila Bennett."
It was signed by Derek, the son of Elder Darius—her new "master."
————
At the end of the red carpet, the sea breeze suddenly fell silent for an instant.
It wasn’t that the wind had died down, but that the air itself had grown taut with an invisible tension.
Martha Thorne walked toward . Her pace was unhurried, the hem of her off-white cashre cardigan lifting gently with her steps, like an old painting slowly being unrolled by the sea breeze. Every footfall landed precisely on the seams of the red carpet, as if it weren’t fabric at all, but a coordinate axis long etched into her muscle mory.
Lilith clung to her arm like a vine wrapped around an ancient tree—supple, yet hiding a strangler’s power. The berry-red smile had been welded back onto her face, but the slight upturn at the corners of her eyes betrayed a tremor that had yet to subside.
I stood my ground, making no move to greet them. Zoe’s hand was still looped through my arm, her fingertips cool but steady as a rock. She didn’t look at Martha, her gaze falling instead to the Wolf Head Pendant on my neck. A corner of her lip curled, and she gave a silent look that said, ’Stick to the plan.’
’I knew what we were facing this ti wasn’t a transparent fledgling like Lilith, but rather, at the end of this ten-foot stretch of red carpet, a bottomless whirlpool hidden within a pair of gentle, smiling eyes.’
Martha stopped half a step in front of .
She didn’t speak first. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping past my shoulder to the two rows of guards standing behind like an iron wall. The glance was fleeting, yet it felt like a scalpel gliding over skin—precise, cool, and emotionless. Only then did her eyes return to my face.
Her eyes were light brown with a faint gray halo around the irises, like old ink bled by ti. Right now, they were filled with a perfectly asured warmth and moisture.
"Lila," she said my na, her voice soft and slow, possessing a velvety texture that had been polished by ti. "Oh, goodness... you look so much like Isolde."
She paused, lifting her fingertips to hover with restraint half an inch above my elbow, as if afraid to startle .
"I’ve... always wanted to co and see you," she said, her voice dropping as if she were confiding a secret she had held for years. "But every ti I walked to the iron gates of the Goodrich family’s ho, I turned back."
’Ever since I was adopted by the Goodrich family, she and my uncle never once ca to see !’
My throat tightened. I wanted to scoff at her hypocrisy, so I secretly dug my nails into my palm, using the sharp pain as a reminder: ’Don’t let any cracks show.’
"You... you’ve rembered all this ti?" I heard my own voice, steady and yet carrying a perfectly-tid, slight tremor, like soone eting a relative for the first ti.
"Of course I rember." She smiled, and the fine lines that blood at the corners of her eyes were heartbreakingly real. "I held you when you were just born. You were such a tiny bundle, wrapped in a blue-and-white striped swaddling blanket, sleeping like a little seal pup." She reached out, her fingers finally brushing gently against the silver-thread embroidery on my cuff. "Your mom... Isolde, she was holding you, and she said, ’Lila is going to learn to paint soday. She’s going to paint all the colors of the sea.’"
Her words were like an ice pick, jabbing unexpectedly into my temple.
’—My mom really had said that, on the last day she ever took out to sketch. She’d pointed at the surface of the sea and said, "Look, Lila, the sea isn’t one shade of blue; it’s three hundred shades of blue. When you grow up, you have to capture them all for Mom."’
’But after that night, I never saw my mom again.’
And here Martha was, in the gentlest voice, repeating the private words that only Isolde and I knew.
A cold nausea churned in my stomach. I thought of the surveillance footage I’d seen in Jasper’s study a few days ago, and of the list of undercover agents—the codena "Gray Dove" circled in red: Martha Thorne.
And now, those sa eyes were glistening with tears, gazing at .
I forced the corners of my mouth to curve up. "I’ve missed you a lot, too..."
"Oh, you poor child." She raised her hand, and this ti she finally stroked my temple, the gesture so practiced it might have been rehearsed a thousand tis. "I was just afraid... that if I visited too often, it would make the Goodrich family feel as though I didn’t trust their love for you." Her voice grew even softer, as if soothing a frightened little animal. "Arthur and Elizabeth are respectable people. They gave you a ho by adopting you. If I were to barge in, it would look as though I was questioning their sincerity... and that would be the thing that truly hard you."
’—Such flawless logic.’
’It flaunted her own deep feelings while also implying respect for the adoptive relationship, perfectly explaining away the glaring inconsistency of her having ignored an orphan for so many years.’
I dropped my gaze to the silver sandals Zoe had picked for . The straps were tied in a delicate bow at my ankle, like a silver shackle.
"That’s very thoughtful of you," I said, my voice as light as a falling feather.
"Thoughtful?" She gave a soft laugh that held a note of genuine self-mockery. "No, Lila, I just... I know all too well that so positions can’t be secured by blood ties alone." Her gaze swept over the Wolf Head Pendant at my chest, then returned to my face, her eyes as deep as an old well. "Anyway, let’s not dwell on the past. You’re an adult now. We must see each other often from now on."
All I could do was look at her, letting my eyes grow hot and my breathing turn heavy—like a child whose secret, unhealed wound had just been prodded.
Aunt Martha seed very pleased with my reaction. She stepped forward to embrace , exuding what she considered a perfectly curated maternal aura.
Just then, Zoe moved.
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