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Lily smirked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

“Well?” she asked, tilting her head. “Anything else you’d like to know? How often? How heavy? Should I describe the⁠—”

I turned on my heel, striding out of the washroom without another word.

Adeline definitely laughed this time.

I descended the stairs grabbing my coat from the rack.

Adeline’s voice followed me. “Where are you going?”

“To get her monthly necessities.”

I reached for the door handle, intent on getting out of the house and as far away from this conversation as possible. But before I could step outside, Adeline’s voice rang out behind me, thick with amusement.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

I froze.

“You wouldn’t last two minutes buying women’s supplies.” She stepped around me, plucking my coat right out of my hands. “I’ll take care of it.”

I shot her a warning look. “I can handle it.”

She smirked. “Oh, I’m sure you could. But I’d hate to see you get any redder than you already are.”

I clenched my jaw. The heat still burning at the back of my neck wasn’t helping my case.

She shrugged into her own coat. “I’ll be back soon.”

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face. “Fine.”

“Good.” She grabbed the door handle, then paused, glancing back at me. “Oh, and August?”

I turned, already regretting acknowledging her.

She grinned. “Try not to interrogate her again while I’m gone, hm?”

And with that, she was out the door.

I stood there for a long moment, the house settling into silence around me.

Then, with a frustrated sigh, I stalked toward my study. Saints help me; I needed a drink.

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight. The study was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the flames. It should have been enough to steady my thoughts—to drown out the day’s events, the unraveling, the questions I shouldn’t be asking.

But it wasn’t.

I took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in my chest. I had come here for clarity, but all I found was a tangle of thoughts I couldn’t untangle. Elias’s certainty. The Weaver’s final look.

I swallowed hard, as if that might steady the storm beneath my ribs.

A soft click of a door echoed from upstairs. Light footsteps followed down the stairs, almost hesitant.

I turned my head. It was Lily.

My grip tightened around the glass.

She stood in the doorway, red curls damp and clinging to her bare shoulders, a towel wrapped loosely around her body. She must have heard me come in here. Must have decided to follow. She should have looked vulnerable like this—exposed.