LILY
I had been uneasy all morning, the kind of unease that sat just under my skin and refused to settle. Alice felt it too. She clung to my leg more than usual, her small fingers curling into the fabric of my dress as if she sensed something was wrong.
“Outside,” she said, pointing toward the garden doors.
I hesitated.
The garden was usually safe. Quiet. Controlled. But today, something about it made my chest tighten. I looked down at her, at her hopeful eyes and the faint bruise on her knee from a tumble days ago that had already faded.
“All right,” I said softly. “But we stay close.”
She nodded, already bouncing.
I opened the doors and stepped out with her, the morning air cool against my skin. The grass was damp with dew. Sunlight filtered through the hedges, casting long shadow
