The door had barely closed behind Isabelle before the room settled into a different kind of quiet.
Not the comfortable kind they had built between them over tea and documents. This one had weight in it.
Mr Grayson sat looking at the closed door for a long moment.
Then he looked at his daughter.
“How long have you known?” he asked quietly.
“Since she pushed Lily,” Mara said simply. “The way she moved. The way she recovered. The way the tear came at exactly the right moment.” She paused. “Nobody cries like that naturally. That kind of timing is learned.”
Mr Grayson was quiet.
“I dismissed things,” he said finally. “Small things. The way she always seemed to be nearby during conversations that should have been private. The way she asked questions that were slightly more informed than t
