"Is that so?" she murmured, watching her stepmother like one might study a beautifully polished sword—admiring the shine, noting the bloodstains.
"Oh yes," the woman replied, sipping her tea again. "Of course, such things are delicate. Too much of it and, well... one would sleep very soundly." Her eyes glittered. "Forever, even."
The silence in the room thickened. Her brother looked away, eyes flicking toward the floor. Her father blinked, as if the implication sailed right over his medicated head.
But Lidia caught it. She caught everything.
The woman had just hinted at poisoning someone. With a smile.
And the kicker? No one batted a lash.
Lidia leaned back against the couch, a slow, thoughtful frown tugging at her lips. Her eyes drifted to the teacup in her stepmother's hands, and then to the faint tremble in her father's fingers.
Something is wrong, her gut screamed. Something is rotting in this house, and no one's saying a word.
