Her smile never wavered.
I’ve stared down storms capable of tearing ships to pieces and men who kept knives behind their tongues, and even the gnawing voice of my own doubt—but nothing unsettles me more than Arabella smiling like she already has the last page of my story in her hand.
“You look tired,” she had said. Simple words. Cruel in their gentleness.
I take a slow breath, still holding my mask of composure. “And you look satisfied. A lethal mix.”
Her laugh is quiet, almost musical. “Dangerous? Oh, Vivian… I think you overestimate me.”
“No,” I counter, stepping closer into the lanternlight so we’re almost eye to eye. “I think you underestimate how much I’ve learned to see through masks.”
For a moment, her eyes harden—there’s steel beneath the smile. Then it’s gone, replaced by th
