Elizabeth arrived while the others were still suspended in that fragile moment of emotional release. She moved through the doorway like a shadow passing through moonlight—silent, deliberate, and almost imperceptible.
She wore a simple dark dress that swallowed the amber candlelight, a garment that spoke of her disciplined nature and the careful composure she maintained like armor at the Academy.
But while Lily and Diana were surrendering to the warmth of the room, Elizabeth was observing it with the clinical detachment of a survivor.
When her eyes met Rex's, there was no naive hope there, no grateful relief. Instead, her gaze was doing something terrifyingly complicated. She was the only one in that room who possessed the full, ugly truth.
