Cattleya”s hand tightened around the jagged silver filament in her pocket. The metal was burning, biting into her palm, a searing, physical anchor in a world that felt like it had been rendered in high-definition deception.
She looked at her father. Dominic”s smile hadn't changed, but now, with the memory of the "Cycle" burned into her consciousness, she saw it for what it was: a predator”s grimace. He wasn't looking at his daughter; he was checking the vitals of an investment.
"You were out late, daughter," he repeated.
Cattleya”s heart hammered against her ribs, but it wasn't the panic of the hunt. It was the icy, calculated rhythm of a machine. She looked at the tea service on the small table”the fine china, the silver spoons, the steam rising from the porcelain.
"I lost track of ti
