Lilianna turned to look at Grayson. But it was a useless gesture.

Grayson had his arms loosely crossed and his eyes fixed on the back of Neville’s head.

’Don’t bother,’ the voice in her head said, sharp and chiding, like a flick to the back of her skull. ’Grayson won’t help you. He’ll side with that slut no matter what.’

She knew her inner voice wasn’t wrong, and it was infuriating.

"Fine," Lilianna said, squaring her shoulders with her chin up. "Let’s play rock, paper, scissors."

Ciel perched on the arm of one of the large sofas, his boyish face alight with curiosity.

Helena sat on the sofa that was a few feet behind Lilianna, with her arms crossed.

Bryan leaned against the sofa with a smile.

Neville gave a harmless smile. His hair was slightly tousled.

They raised their fists in unison.

"Rock—paper—scissors!"

Neville threw paper. His hand lay flat, fingers slightly apart, relaxed.

Lilianna also threw a paper.

She stared at their matching hands hovering between them.

"It’s a draw," Neville said, lightly.

"Yeah." Lilianna retracted her hand slowly. Her jaw was tight, but she kept her expression controlled. "It’s a draw."

Neville tilted his head. "Do you want to continue?"

The voice in her head hissed: ’He’s at it again. He told you he will only play paper. If you throw anything other than paper, you win—but you prove you don’t trust him. If you throw paper again, it’s another draw, and he will prove that you do. But it’s humiliating.’

Lilianna’s fingers twitched at her side.

’Play the game,’ the voice instructed. ’Paper again. Don’t give him a reason to doubt you.’

"Okay," Lilianna said. "Let’s go again."

They squared up.

"Rock—paper—scissors!"

Lilianna threw paper.

For a moment, she didn’t look at Neville’s hand. Her pulse kicked against the inside of her wrist, hard and fast. Because she realized mid-throw that she didn’t know if Neville would keep his word.

What if he threw scissors? What if this was a trap? What if—

Then, she saw it.

Paper.

Neville’s hand was flat.

Open.

Paper.

Lilianna exhaled.

Neville withdrew his hand nonchalantly and tucked both palms into his trouser pockets, rocking slightly on his heels.

He glanced at their hands, then at her, and offered a small, unreadable smile.

"It seems that you really trust me," he said, "even though we just met."

Lilianna felt the sting in her chest.

Because what could she say?

Actually, I debated throwing a rock to crush your stupid paper hand because I hate you.

She couldn’t.

So she could only smile.

"It’s a really good draw," she said lightly.

Neville’s eyes lingered on her for a second. Then he turned away, already peering toward the dining area.

Lilianna nodded once, secretly grinding her teeth so hard that it ached.

’He read you like a manual’, her inner voice commented in an amused tone. ’And you just let him do that?’

Lilianna felt the acid coming up from her stomach when she felt a warm hand pat her on the shoulder.

So, she turned.

Helena stood behind her. Her hair was pulled back in a low knot with a concerned expression on her face.

"You said you came here directly from the shoot, right?" Helena’s voice was low, pitched for Lilianna’s ears alone. "How about eating a little?"

The mention of food made Lilianna’s stomach twist.

She hadn’t eaten since—when is it again?

The moment she tried to think about the past, she felt her throat begin to burn.

Then, she heard Bryan’s voice.

"I brought the cooking robot with me," Bryan announced, as a cooking robot materialized at the edge of the dining area. "Had it working while everyone was busy playing. Dinner’s served."

A ripple of interest moved through the room. The estate’s dining hall was hidden by a half-wall of frosted glass.

Beyond the glass, a long table had been set. Everything was precisely placed, not a utensil out of line.

The cooking robot stood at the head of the table, its chrome arms folded neatly against its chassis.

It had produced an impressive spread: what appeared to be a molecular reconstruction of baragara sliders with leime wraps, a clear consommé that smelled faintly of sanicle equinox, and a dessert tray featuring something that might have been ilex alder compote over crushed fanilya cream.

Neville’s head snapped toward the dining area, eyes lit up with interest. "Is that the Model 7 unit? The one with the updated flavor-calibration suite?"

"The very same," Bryan said. His smile widened into a full grin.

"I need to see the output consistency on the protein synthesis," Neville said, already walking. His steps were quick, almost bouncy. "The last model had a terrible time with the Maillard reaction on level-four cosmic beast meat—"

He was halfway across the room before Grayson moved. But he still managed to fall into step beside Neville in no time.

Neville’s animated chatter about thermal gradient algorithms was heard as they disappeared past the frosted glass divider.

Bryan and Iris followed. While Ciel bounced off the sofa arm.

Helena began to move as well—

But Lilianna didn’t make it three steps before it hit her.

She thought it had gone away already. But then she felt the burning sensation intensify. Her throat felt utterly dry, with a scraping hear that clawed up inside her throat.

She tried to swallow a handful of time, but her saliva felt like it was laced with sand and tasted chemical.

Soon, her breathing started to become ragged, making her stop in her place, not daring to move a single step.

One hand was about to reach her throat to try to scratch the itch inside for a temporary relief when she heard her inner voice.

’Breathe. Don’t make a scene.’ Her inner voice said coldly, as if scolding her. ’You know what this is. You’ve already survived this the first time; you can survive a second time.’

Lilianna managed to stop herself, but this was significantly harder than before.

The itch became unbearable. Like there was a creature in between the layers of her skin, crawling down the lining of her esophagus.