“And what would you study?” Her voice dipped, thoughtful. “What does your future look like?”
Everything, I wanted to say. Everything, and more.
But everything didn’t pay for my future. Everything didn’t buy safety.
“Law or accounting,” I said instead.
The answer tasted like paper on my tongue. Dry and practical. She didn’t blink, just examined me like an old book. My fingers fidgeted with the bracelet on my wrist, its crystals cold against my skin. Lilian rose from her chair, the silk of her blouse catching the candlelight as her floral scent awakened once more—iron and flowers.
She began to gather the papers on her desk, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer than I expected.
“There’s no dream that’s impossible to reach with your name. You’re a Thornbury. Use that wisely.”
Her words weighed me down, leaving a mark on my chest. The name scratched across my mind, each letter sharp like a knife tearing into skin. It didn’t feel like mine. Not really. And yet…it was the only key to the door, to a better life.
Everything I had wanted, right in front of me, and all I had to do was wear the name my mum had shed.
Lilian ledme down to the ground floor, where high, dark green walls with wooden frames and old paintings welcomed us into the dining room. The air smelled of thyme and wood smoke, like something had been roasting for hours. A long oval table stretched across a faded Persian carpet, shadowed by a wrought iron chandelier that dripped with glass like crystallised rain.
Lilian strode to the seat at the far end while I lingered behind. The table could seat twelve, maybe more, and nearly every chair sat empty. The twins were whispering on Lilian’s left, while their brother—leaving out a buffer of seats—occupied the end closest to the entrance. Closest to where I stood.
Preston leaned back in his chair, his head tilted slightly like he was listening for something no one else could hear. When his eyes met mine, his stare turned sharp and pointed, like he had tried very hard to make me disappear, but was failing.
I looked away, pretending he didn’t bother me, and moved up the table to take the empty chair across from the twins.
As soon as I sat, a narrow door opened within one of the wooden panels and three women appeared carrying dinner. Their movements were smooth, choreographed, like a quiet ritual. They placed the plates before us, and the scent of onion and something buttery made my stomach lurch. It smelled richer than anything I’d eaten in months.
It wasn’t simple hunger that washed over me. It was the kind that had teeth.
I pressed a hand over my stomach and studied the silverware. Too many forks. Too many options. Each one gleamed with quiet menace under the chandelier. The handles weren’t plain, but shaped like beetles and serpents; wings tucked, fangs bared, as if cast from the bones of forgotten myths. One fork looked like it might bite back if I chose wrong.
I stared at the steaming roast potatoes and carrots nestled in dark gravy.Who uses three forks for one dinner?My throat filled with annoyance. How was I supposed to know which one to use? Something bumped against my leg beneath the table, and I looked up just as Myra gestured toward the longest fork.
I let out a breath. “Thanks.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
“No elbows on the table, Myra,” Lilian’s voice rang through the room, and Myra dropped her hands into her lap with the ghost of a smile.
“Yes, Myra, be a good girl.” Cecily giggled, nudging her sister.
I picked up the fork shaped like stems curling into petal tips. It looked more sculpted than forged, like something plucked from a twisted fairytale. I pierced a piece of potato, the prongs sinking into the soft flesh with a sound too sharp, too wet. It echoed too easily in my mind, taking me straight back to two nights before. My blade, sinking easily into skin with warm blood patching my fingers like ink. I swallowed hard, nausea tightening my throat. Not the best dinner thought.
“How was it living in London?” Cecily asked, slicing the mind-painted picture in two. She leaned forward, her silver braces catching the light. “Was it like in the movies?”
I twisted the bracelet on my wrist, my fingers nervously playing with one of the crystals.
“It depends on the person,” I said. “My mum loved the city.” I felt Lilian’s gaze settle on me and the air inside my lungs thinned. I raised my chin higher. “Me, not so much.”
The words came out flatly, but I meant them. For me, London had become more grind than glamour. I hadn’t seen the city’s festive lights or museums in years. My world had narrowed to dim pubs, night buses, and lonely walks.
The side of my face prickled, and I turned my head to find Preston’s gaze piercing me. He wasn’t just watching, he was assessing. I looked away, resisting the urge to grind my teeth. If he’s waiting for an apology, then he’s going to be disappointed.
“Is it beautiful though?” Myra asked. “I’ve always wanted to visit London.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Myra’s voice was gentle, curious. I searched my memories: the green parks, playgrounds, my mum laughing as she tossed crusts to ducks. The small fish andchips booths where we always stopped before heading home. Home. I missed that version of London. The one I’d known as a child. For a spare second, the ache in my chest burned.
“It must have been beautiful,” she added, like she needed it to be true.
I took a sip from the lukewarm tea, letting it fill the hollow spaces opening inside me. Myra smiled, and something in me eased. I returned the smile, awkward and unsure. It tugged unfamiliar muscles, but the girls didn’t seem to notice. They just smiled back, like this was all perfectly normal. Maybe it was. It should have been.
