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“Is that why you researched the disappeared people?” The question was gentle now, genuinely curious rather than interrogative. “Because you understood what it meant to lose someone who’s now gone?”
“Maybe.” She moved to the maps, tracing the pins. “Or maybe I just needed to prove they existed.”
“They existed,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean they should have.”
She turned sharply. “That’s a convenient philosophy for a killer.”
“And a necessary one for a survivor.”
We stood in the afternoon light, opponents caught in a temporary ceasefire. The air between us was charged with awareness. She’d challenged me without flinching, and I respected that more than I wanted to admit.
She should hate me. I should see her as a threat. And I did. But beneath the anger, there was curiosity—an unwilling fascination I didn’t have the discipline to kill.
I forced a step back, rebuilding the wall she kept finding cracks in. Whatever she was hiding on that street still mattered more than whatever I thought I saw in her eyes. Sympathy wasn’t trust. And trust could get us both killed.
“Miss Whitmore—”
She studied me for a beat, then added, “When we're alone, you could call me Lily.”
Granting her permission was oddly intimate. But I did it without thinking. “August,” I answered.
“When we're alone.”
“August.” She tested it, and I liked the way it sounded in her voice—less formal, more personal.
A sharp knock interrupted us.
We both jumped. I quickly put distance between us, trying to collect myself.
“Yes?”
Mrs. Hartley opened the pocket doors, her expression apologetic. “I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but Miss Sterling has arrived. She's waiting in the drawing room and seems rather. . . insistent on seeing you.”
Damn.
I'd meant to handle Constance before now. Before Lily became a complication that required explanation. But the walk had taken longer than expected.
“Constance?” Lily's eyebrow arched. “The woman you're ending things with?”
“The timing is unfortunate,” I said tightly.
“Or perfect.” She stood, smoothing her skirts. “I should meet her anyway, shouldn't I? If I'm meant to be living here. Better to establish my presence now than have her discover me later.”
She wasn't wrong. But every instinct I possessed screamed this was a terrible idea.
“Constance doesn't know about you yet,” I said carefully. “And she's. . . she has strong opinions about what she considers hers.”
“Possessive, then.”
“Territorial,” I corrected, though it amounted to the same thing. “She won't take kindly to another woman living in my house, regardless of the explanation.”
“Then I suppose we'll just have to be very proper.” Lily's smile was all teeth. “Unless you'd prefer I hide in the study like a shameful secret?”
“That's not—”
“Then introduce me.” She moved toward the door, that determined stride that Adeline wanted to correct. “Let's see how your almost-former arrangement handles meeting your best friend's cousin.”
This was going to be a disaster.
