Chapter 983
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. She pulled the IV from her arm. Blood welled up, bright red against her skin.
She needed something. Anything. A fragment of the truth that had survived the fire. She wasn’t going to heal.
She was going to hunt.
The ruins of the Sterling attic smelled of wet charcoal. Police tape fluttered in the wind like yellow bunting strung up for a disastrous party.
Skye stood at the edge of the perimeter, wearing oversized sunglasses and a hood pulled low. She watched the forensic team sifting through the ash.
𝖣оո’𝗍 m𝘪𝘴𝗌 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘳el𝗲𝖺𝘀𝘦s о𝗇 𝘨𝖺𝗹n𝗼𝗏e𝘭s.𝗰о𝗆
There was nothing left. The cage, the painting — all of it reduced to carbon.
A black car pulled up. Lucian Graves stepped out, spoke briefly with the police chief, and handed him a thick envelope. A bribe, delivered without ceremony.
Lucian turned. He looked directly at the spot where Skye was hidden in the bushes — and smiled. A small, cruel tilt of the lips. Or perhaps it was a signal. He tapped his wrist, marking time, then got back in his car.
Skye felt a surge of hatred so pure it nearly choked her. Lucian had played both sides at the Citadel, and he was playing both sides now. He had burned the evidence, but he had also saved her life. He was a puzzle she didn’t have time to solve.
She returned to Oracle. Parker was waiting in her office, looking steadier than the last time she’d seen him, though his arm remained in a sling.
“Can you recover it?” Skye asked. “The security footage from the manor?”
Parker shook his head. “It’s gone, Skye. Not just deleted — the hard drives were physically drilled. Someone knew exactly where the servers were.”
Skye slammed her fist on the desk. “So I have nothing. Just my word against theirs.”
A courier appeared in the doorway. “Delivery for Ms. Sterling. No return address.”
Skye took the box. It was wrapped in plain brown paper. She opened it.
Inside lay a doll.
It was scorched, one button eye missing. The fabric was singed and reeked of smoke. It was the doll from the painting — the one she had seen in the attic before the fire.
Skye lifted it. Her hands shook. It was real. It had survived.
A note was pinned to the doll’s dress.
Proof of life. — L
L. Lucian? Liam? Or perhaps — the Librarian?
It didn’t matter. This was physical evidence. An object from the cage. If she could prove this doll had belonged to the real heir, it changed everything.
Skye slipped the doll into her bag. She didn’t call Alistair. She didn’t call Julian. She went straight to the Diamond Spa downtown.
Gemma was there, receiving a mud facial. She lay on a treatment table with her eyes closed, looking every inch the pampered heiress.
Skye walked into the private room and dismissed the masseuse with a glare and a hundred-dollar bill.
Gemma opened her eyes. “Skye? What are you doing here?”
.