Book 3: Before

Hollis

I take a full step back from Candace before my brain catches up with my body. We were supposed to go try to get some of the staff on our side today—and if the idea appealed, maybe have a private lunch in the kitchen, without all the pressure of a formal meal. Talking about Mother is… not exactly the opposite but far from what I was hoping for.

I don’t talk about Mother to anyone. A few days after the funeral, Eva asked me if I was sad, and I told her never to ask me that again. She hasn’t broken that rule since. I have no map for conversations like this.

My mouth opens without a specific instruction. My chest puffs, and my brows furrow. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I know I’m going to regret it.

Candace holds up a hand, silencing me. “I understand. That was a bad idea.”

She starts to turn back to her painting, but not before I watch disappointment flicker over her face. Pain aches through me—but not from my mark. Somet