Veil of Deception

Chapter 9

"As you wish, Lyra."

My name sounds different in his voice. Less detached. More real. It catches me off guard, but I don't let it show. Instead, I find myself watching him even more closely, searching for cracks, for anything that will tell me what lies beneath that impossibly smooth surface.

A thought tugs at the back of my mind. That night in the backyard. The ladder. The steady hand that caught me as I slipped.

Could it have been him?

The timing. The way he always seems to be watching, always one step ahead. It fits. But if it was him, he hasn't let on. Not a single hint.

I tilt my head. "Can I ask you something?"

His gaze sharpens, focusing entirely on me. "Go ahead."

I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. "What's it like, being in the shadows all the time? Watching people, never really being seen?"

For the first time, I see something shift. But just as quickly, it smooths over, his expression once again unreadable.

"It's... useful." The words are clipped, carefully chosen. "You learn a lot by staying quiet."

A non-answer. A deflection. But it only makes me want to dig deeper.

"Well," I say, stretching my legs out and letting out a slow breath, "I'm not planning on making this easy for you, Adam."

And then I see it.

A flicker of amusement. The faintest curve of his lips-so subtle it might not even be there.

"I wouldn't expect you to, Lyra."

His voice is lighter now. Just barely.

I glance back at the TV, but my mind is far from the screen.

For the first time, I think to myself that maybe having Adam Blackford around won't be so bad.

Not if it means unraveling the mystery of Adam Blackford.

☆_______________________________________☆

I'm trying to unravel the mystery.

It feels wrong to go into his room like this-but who cares?

Adam always wakes up super early. By the time I drag myself out of bed, he's already done with his morning workout, showered, and standing guard like some unshakable force of nature. If I want answers, I need to move before he does.

Which is why I'm standing outside his door at this ungodly hour.

His room is on the other wing of the house-far from mine, far from anyone's, as if he prefers to exist on the outskirts of everything. The hallway is eerily quiet, the faint glow of early morning spilling through the windows at the end of the corridor. The rest of the house is still asleep.

Perfect.

I press my ear against the door, listening.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No movement. Not even the sound of breathing.

Is he still asleep? Unlikely. But it's the best shot I've got.

I hesitate for half a second before wrapping my fingers around the handle. It turns easily beneath my grip. Not locked. Interesting.

I push the door open slowly, peering inside.

His room is just like him-orderly, precise, everything in its place. The bed is made, crisp and untouched, as if he hasn't slept in it at all. A sleek desk with a computer on top, and grey curtains drawn so tightly that only the faintest sliver of light seeps through. It's impersonal, as if he's not planning to stay long.