The penthouse was immaculate.
That was the first lie.
Housekeeping had done what housekeeping always did. Every surface wiped clean. Every line straightened. Every pillow fluffed into the illusion of order. The air smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and something metallic beneath it, as though sterility itself had been sprayed too heavily.
But Willow saw past it immediately.
She sat on the edge of the bed with the breast pump humming softly against her skin, Zana asleep in the next room under Elisabeth's careful watch, and let her eyes travel slowly through the space.
There was no food.
Not hidden. Not forgotten. Not misplaced.
Absent.
She stood once she finished pumping, sealed the bottles carefully, labeled them with the date and time in her precise handwriting, then crossed into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator.
One unopened bottle of water.
