Chapter 11. Rules of the Cage

It all began with flowers.

When Alyssa entered the kitchen the next morning, morning light streaming through the bay window, she found a single bouquet—though “bouquet” felt too formal—resting on the marble island.

There were no roses, no lilies, no expertly arranged blooms tied with ribbon. Instead, a casually elegant tangle of garden stems stood in a simple ceramic pitcher: creamy whites, buttery yellows, and soft, sky-blue blooms jostled against one another in an untamed, asymmetrical dance. It looked as though someone had wandered into a backyard at dawn and gathered whatever flowers were still open. And yet there was no note, no card, not even a stray petal to give away the giver’s identity.

Evelyn hovered in the doorway. Her gold earrings caught the light as she cleared her throat.

“Did you put those there?” she asked, voice low.

Alyssa studied her assistant’s composed face. Evelyn’s shoulders were squared, but her eyes—alert and watchful—told a