Isabella opened her lips to offer a retort, but Olivia interjected with practiced grace, stepping between them like a silk curtain. A thin, porcelain smile stretched across her face—one that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"I have time enough to spare, dearest sister," Olivia murmured, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Allow me the distinct honor of escorting you myself."
As they moved toward the heavy oak doors, Olivia's hand brushed Isabella's shoulder in a gesture that appeared sisterly to any casual observer. Yet, in a flicker of movement too swift for the eye to catch, she tucked a sliver of folded parchment into the deep folds of Isabella's gown. It was only when the echo of their footsteps faded that Isabella dared to unfurl it. Her eyes scanned the frantic scrawl:
"Beware. Do not follow me."
