Maya did not attack with the frantic, clumsy energy of her past. She did not storm the mahogany doors of the Grey estate or scream accusations into the wind, hoping the noise would eventually transmute into power. That was how she used to fight—openly, desperately, clinging to the belief that if she were loud enough, the world would have no choice but to listen.
This time, she chose the most dangerous weapon in her arsenal: silence.
Victoria felt the shift before she fully understood the mechanics of it. It began as a subtle tightening in the atmosphere, a sense of being observed not with the longing of a sister, but with the cold, clinical calculation of a rival. It was the feeling of a net being cast, the mesh so fine it was invisible until it began to draw tight.
The signs were small
