Wren showed Sebastian the message the next morning, before either of them had properly slept, sitting across from him at the small table in his study with two cups of coffee neither of them touched. He read it twice, the same careful stillness she'd watched settle over him the night before, and when he finally looked up, something in his expression had hardened into a version of him she hadn't seen since the gala — controlled, exacting, already three moves ahead.
"She," he said. "Not a name. Just a pronoun."
"I've been sitting with it since eleven last night. There are four women in this house who've had reason to watch me closely enough to be dangerous. Margaret. Genevieve, if she's closer to this family's secrets than either of us has given her credit for. Your assistant, whoever handl
