He couldn’t hear me.

He turned the red beads on his wrist, his expression remote.

Outside, winter sunlight slipped through the clouds.

Even the light seemed cold.

He held out a hand.

Gold fell across pale fingertips.

“Don’t waste any more time investigating the Whitmores.”

Miles stared.

“Sir? And Miss Whitmore—”

“Don’t let me hear her name again.”

Cold anger cut off the question.

“Yes, sir.”

My face went still.

The hope in me dimmed and broke.

His words repeated inside my head.

He didn’t want to hear my name.

He was tired of the game.

I laughed.

Bent over with it, my whole spirit aching.

Minutes earlier, I had believed he might have intended to die with Julian.

For me.

Could I possibly be more delusional?

Shame caught me, tangled with another feeling I couldn’t name.

I wanted to throw myself into the traffic and die again.

The fireworks were to blame.

They had been too beautiful.

Beautiful enough to make me imagine I was cherished.

Enough to make me forget what he was.

He had been playing a more exciting game.

I was prey who had mistaken a glimpse of the hunter for tenderness.

Someone had told me long ago that Lucian had no heart.

I closed my eyes.

I was exhausted.

Miles spoke again.

“The Sterlings are celebrating the baby’s hundredth day tonight. They sent the castle an invitation. The family head said that, given the connection, you should attend if you have time.”

Theodore Sterling had taken Tessa’s liver.

Ellie might be next.

I had hoped Lucian would uncover my murder, follow the trail, and destroy the operation behind it.

How naive.

Sterling was a distant relative.

Why would Lucian truly turn against him?

“I’ll go,” he said. “I’ve prepared a gift.”

Something inside me went quiet.

I pictured him laughing across a dinner table with the old man who had prolonged his life with Tessa’s liver.

I felt sick.

Why did cruel people get happy families?

Why did Tessa’s parents have to bury their daughter?

I gave Lucian one last disappointed look and left.

Back to my mother.

She sat facing the window, holding her pillow like a baby.

Her thin hands patted it gently.

Love filled her eyes.

The sight softened me.

Much of my anger drained away. Even despair loosened its grip.

I could imagine her holding me like that when I was born.

As though I were precious.

Perhaps she had sung lullabies to me.

“Mom.”

My eyes burned before I reached her.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

Vivian entered with the heavyset aide who had hurt her before.

The woman carried a large bowl of dark liquid.

“Lucky you. Mrs. Whitmore brought your medicine herself.”

I watched the bowl.

Something smelled wrong.

Bitter herbs mixed with the scent of temple incense.

A dark clump floated inside.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“What are you giving her?”

I followed them closely.

The aide looked at my mother’s vacant face and rolled her eyes.

Then she turned toward Vivian, all eager deference.

“I give her the medication on time every day. No improvement. She’s getting worse. Thinks a pillow’s her baby now.”

She snatched it away.

My mother cried out in broken, wordless sounds.

She lunged for her child.

The aide kicked her to the floor.

“Don’t touch her!”

I rushed at the woman.

I had given up on justice for myself.

I had one chance left to touch the world.

Let me use it for my mother.

I passed through her.

Nothing.

I had held Lucian on that roof.

Now I couldn’t save my own mother.

What use was this ability?

“You want your baby?”

The aide lifted the pillow high, her small eyes vicious.

“Kneel. Bow to Mrs. Whitmore.”

“Mom, don’t.”

Tears flooded my face.

But my mother watched the pillow.

To her, it was her daughter.

Her life.

The aide made as though to smash it down.

My mother knelt.

She bowed again and again, striking her forehead against the floor.

Skin broke.

Blood ran.

She didn’t stop.

My heart seemed to bleed with her.

“Enough.”

Vivian covered her nose in disgust.

“Make her drink all of it. Not a drop wasted. That blessing cost me a great deal.”

Not medicine.

Talisman water.

“What are you doing to her?”

The aide handed over the bowl.

“Drink. Then lick it clean. Or I’ll kill your baby.”

Blood from my mother’s forehead ran down her face.

She didn’t notice.

Kneeling, she took the bowl in both hands and swallowed desperately, eyes fixed on the pillow.

When the liquid was gone, I saw what remained.

Burned talisman paper.

Ash soaked into black sludge.

“Eat that, too.”

“No.”

I reached for the bowl.

Missed.

Again.

I collapsed, helpless, watching her swallow the filthy remains.

She held up the empty bowl and reached for her child.

Vivian looked down at her with undisguised contempt.

“She really has lost her mind. Convenient timing.”

As she left, she gave another order.

“Three times a day. Keep giving her the talisman water.”

The door closed.

Footsteps faded.

Only my mother’s retching remained.

She vomited dark water onto the floor.

Too weak to rise, one thin ankle still chained, she lay on her back and held the pillow tightly.

Her eyes wandered over the ceiling.

Perhaps she saw some happiness beyond it.

She smiled sweetly.

Her arms closed more tightly around her child.

I knelt beside her, crying.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

Again and again.

There was nothing else I could do.

I didn’t know what Vivian intended.

Watching my mother suffer while I could do nothing hurt worse than being killed.

I bowed three times beside her and left in tears.

Outside the room, white light swallowed me.