Page 73 of The Last Stitch

“Liar.”

I flinched.

Adeline’s voice wasn’t cruel, wasn’t mocking. It was certain.

She took another step, and I had nowhere to go. “You can keep lying if you want. You can keep pretending you have no idea what’s going on. But that won’t change the truth.” Her brown eyes gleamed. “I see the way you're coming apart, Lily.”

I exhaled shakily. “If you’re so sure, then why haven’t you told August?”

A flicker of something passed over her face. Something unreadable.

Then, she said the one thing I wasn’t expecting.

“Because I don’t want to.”

The words didn't make sense. I stared at her. “What?”

Adeline sighed, running a hand across her forehead, suddenly looking exhausted. “Heavens, you are dreadfully slow.” Then, meeting my gaze dead-on, she said, “I have no wish for you to be discovered.”

Silence.

Cold, heavy, impossible silence.

I opened my mouth—then closed it again, because what the hell was I supposed to say to that?

Adeline—the sharp-eyed woman who had been pressing me from the moment we met—was a sympathizer?

My head spun.

“You're lying,” I whispered.

Her eyes flashed. “Am I?”

I couldn’t breathe.

“You—” I swallowed, my thoughts tumbling over each other, trying to catch up. “Why would you?”

“Because,” she cut in, “the world is seldom as black and white as August imagines.” She stepped back, granting me space, though her words still pressed close. “And I fear you are soon to learn that lesson the hard way.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know who she really was or if I could trust her.

Adeline exhaled through her nose, then, without another word, grabbed my wrist and pulled me up the stairs and down the hall.

I tensed. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer. Not until we stepped into a small washroom. She shut the door behind us, twisted the handle until I heard the lock click, then strode to the basin and turned the faucet. The rush of water filled the silence between us.

“Sit.”

I hesitated, then lowered myself onto the wooden stool beside the tub, watching her closely as she reached for a small bottle of soap. The scent of lavender and something faintly herbal filled the air.

She poured the soap under the running stream, watching the water foam and cloud. Her hands shook.

Adeline’s jaw moved, then stilled. For a long heartbeat she said nothing—just turned a slim silver ring round and round her thumb, as if she needed the repetition to keep her from breaking.

“Her name was Nicolette.”