Chapter 4. The Girl Who Waited

By the sixth morning, I had stopped being surprised when I opened my door and found Lily waiting outside. She was always there, sometimes holding a book, sometimes carrying her stuffed rabbit, and sometimes simply standing quietly as though she were afraid that if she walked away, I might disappear before she returned.

That morning, she held out her hand before saying a word.

I smiled. "Good morning to you too."

She looked at me seriously. "You're late."

I glanced at the clock behind her. "It is six twenty-nine."

"Exactly."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing, and a small smile appeared on her face - smiles were still rare for her, but I had learned to treasure every one.

I took her hand. "Breakfast?"

She nodded. "Then reading."

"Of course."

"And the gardens after."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do I get a choice?"

She considered the question carefully before answering, "No."

I laughed again.

For the first time in years, I found myself looking forward to mornings, and that frightened me, because every moment I spent with Lily made it harder to remember why I had come to Blackwood Manor.

I had not come here to pretend. I had not come to replace the years I had lost. I had come to discover the truth. But the truth was becoming more dangerous with every passing day, because the little girl holding my hand felt less and less like a stranger - she felt like someone I had been searching for my entire life.

Blackwood Manor followed a strict routine. Breakfast was at seven, lessons came in the morning, reading followed lunch, garden walks happened in the afternoon, and stories were reserved for bedtime - everything had its place and everything had its time, except Lily.

She seemed to exist outside every rule in the house. She noticed things adults ignored, remembered things people forgot, and watched everyone around her with an understanding that sometimes unsettled me, not because she frightened me but because something about the way she observed people felt strangely familiar.

One morning, Mrs. Hayes entered the breakfast room carrying a silver teapot, and Lily didn't look up from her cereal when she said, "Mrs. Hayes is sad."

The housekeeper stopped. "I beg your pardon?"

"You cried."

Mrs. Hayes stared at her. "I did not."

Lily lifted her spoon and continued eating. "Your eyes are red."

Silence filled the room.

I looked toward Mrs. Hayes more carefully, and Lily was right - the woman looked exhausted, but she quickly adjusted her expression and placed the teapot on the table.

"Finish your breakfast, Miss Lily."

Lily lowered her spoon, then said, "You went to the east wing yesterday."

The room changed instantly. Mrs. Hayes froze, and I looked at Lily.

"The east wing?" Mrs. Hayes repeated carefully.

Lily nodded. "You always go there."

The housekeeper placed the teapot down slowly. "Do I?"

"Yes." Lily continued eating as though she hadn't just said anything unusual. "Every Tuesday and Friday."

Nobody spoke.

"You come back sad."

Mrs. Hayes's expression tightened, and for the first time I saw something break through her carefully controlled composure: fear. It lasted only a second before disappearing again.

"Children have very active imaginations."

Lily looked up at her. "I don't imagine things."

The certainty in her voice made the words even more unsettling. Mrs. Hayes looked at me rather than Lily, and there was something in her eyes that made me think she was trying to warn me without saying the words aloud. Then she picked up the teapot. "Enjoy your breakfast."

She left, and I watched the doorway long after she disappeared, while Lily calmly returned to her cereal.

"She cries there."

My hand stopped halfway to my cup. "Where?"

She looked at me. "The locked room."

A cold feeling moved through my chest, but I forced myself to keep my expression calm.

"You've been inside?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then how do you know?"

She looked toward the hallway. "Because she stands outside it."

My heartbeat quickened. "Mrs. Hayes?"

Lily nodded. "Sometimes she talks to the door."

The room suddenly felt colder. "What does she say?"

Lily frowned as she tried to remember. "I don't know." She lowered her voice. "Sometimes she says sorry."

I stared at her. "Sorry for what?"

But Lily had already returned her attention to breakfast. "I don't know." She sounded frustrated with herself. "I forget things."

Those words stayed with me for the rest of the day.

That afternoon, Lily sat beside me in the library with a box of crayons spread across the table while I pretended to read - I had learned quickly that reading around Lily was almost impossible because she noticed everything.

"You skipped a page."

I looked down. She was right.

I smiled. "You caught me."

She nodded proudly. "I always do."

A few minutes later, she pushed a drawing toward me. "It's us."

I looked down. Two figures stood beneath a bright blue sky, one a little girl, the other a woman holding her hand.

My chest tightened. "This is beautiful."

Lily smiled. "This is me." She pointed to the smaller figure before touching the taller one. "This is you."

My fingers tightened slightly around the paper. "You made my hair longer."

She looked confused. "It is longer."

I almost smiled. Then I noticed the third figure, and the smile disappeared.

Someone stood behind us - tall, dark, faceless, the entire figure shaded in black.

I stared at it for several seconds before looking at Lily. "Lily, who is this?"

Her expression changed. "I don't know."

"You drew them."

"I know." She looked back at the picture, and confusion slowly crossed her face. "I don't remember drawing that part."

A chill moved through me. I touched the page carefully. "Is it your father?"

She shook her head immediately. "No."

"How do you know?"

She looked at the dark figure for several seconds before whispering, "Because she isn't him."

I frowned. Lily paused, then touched the shadowed figure with one small finger. "She's someone else."

My heartbeat grew louder. "Who?"

For several seconds, Lily said nothing, the certainty in her expression slowly fading until she looked like an ordinary little girl trying to remember something that had slipped just beyond her reach.

"I don't know." She looked at the drawing again. "I forget."

I studied her face. "Forget what?"

Her eyes lifted to mine, and for a moment she looked much younger than six. "I forget what happened before."

The words stayed between us.

Before what? Before this house? Before the Blackwood family? Before me?

I carefully folded the drawing and placed it inside my book. Lily watched me. "You're keeping it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I looked at the picture again, because something inside me already knew this wasn't simply a child's drawing - it was something she had seen, something she had remembered, or perhaps something someone had tried to make her forget.

"Because I think it's important."

Lily nodded slowly, then whispered, "The lady was crying."

I froze. "What?"

She stared at the drawing. "She was waiting for someone."

My throat tightened. "Who?"

Lily looked at me, and the answer she gave made my blood run cold.

"You."

Before I could ask another question, footsteps sounded outside the library, and we both turned.

Damian Blackwood stood in the doorway, his eyes moving from Lily to me, then to the drawing in my hand.

For the first time since I had arrived at Blackwood Manor, the carefully controlled expression on his face disappeared.

He looked afraid.