With a simple floral dress, Cordelia leaves the comforts of her room. Clutching the grooves of her second-floor window, Cordelia carefully descends, edging her toes on the ivory brick of the manor. Shoes were for amateurs. Staring at the beachfront below, she quickly hops from groove to groove. Within seconds, she meets the ground, her bare feet touching the sandy, grassy ground below. She never dared do this at night—not even she was willing to risk her neck. Sneaking past her father's study during her nightly escapades was far safer.

The sandy bar meets the soles of her feet, sand pressing in between her toes. What if Radjerd's words were true? What did that mean for her future? Was Fitz some sort of alternate version of herself? What if her parents would like him over her? Cordelia's back stiffens, her body holding onto the tension. The worry. The regret.

She was spiralling.

In five years, she'd be thirty. Her age would no longer be an excuse for her poor behaviour. She had to deny Radjerd's advances, no matter how skilled he was with her—the mere thought of his tongue sent tingling waves down her legs. It was the responsible thing to do, even if she didn’t want to do it. She wants to be better, be someone she could be proud of.

Someone her parents could be proud of.

That article…Cordelia's hands curl into fists. It messed up everything. It wasn’t her fault that she was followed.

Bloody hell…

Cordelia sighs to herself, didn’t she make a promise to herself that she would stop moping and face her problems head on? She climbed out a window for God’s sake! Better yet, she left Radjerd at the whims of her parents. If her mother didn’t already end his life…

Cordelia walks along the beachfront observing that the back of the manor oddly lacks in activity. It must mean that both Phoebe and Fitz had arrived. Her stomach drops. Did she have to face them?

She closes her eyes. The warm breeze splashes across her face. She can take peace in this brief, solitary relief that she’s given. Footsteps in the crinkly sand tell her she’s not alone. She turns around, her father’s worried face bearing with untold secrets.

“I know you like coming here when you feel bad.” Her father's calming words say. “If I’m partially to blame for that, I apologize.”

“You’re not.” Her throat feels constricted. “I don’t know how I feel.”

“Please, come inside.” He asks kindly. “Fitz wants to meet you.”

“Why?” a solid question. Why would the man want to meet Cordelia? It doesn’t make sense. To be completely honest, none of this does.

“He’s got…undeniable proof that what the lad said is true.” Her father slides his hands in his pockets. “If you're spending time with him, you should know about his past.”

Was he referring to Radjerd?

“I’m not with Radjerd. What you saw in the article was only a kiss in exchange for information. I have no interest in pursuing this relationship.”

“I see…” Her father's puzzled, “Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He raises a brow. “You went out with him last night. Don’t pretend that you didn’t, your mother and I know about Hidden Treasures. I know the reputation that place has.”

“Dad!” Cordelia’s hit with embarrassment. She didn’t want to get into the logistics of the nightclub, or what had transpired there. “It was better than leaving him here alone, he may have tried to steal from you again.”

“You still believe he would?” Her father asks with heavy concern.

“Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.” There’s fear in his eyes. Why? “Aren’t you the slightest bit curious about the lad’s circumstance?” Lad? “What’s that look for?”

“Soft words for a man who put a gun to your head.”

“A lot has changed since that night.” Her father concludes. That’s one point she can agree with, even if she didn't believe all of this dimensional nonsense. But, she did have one question on her mind.

“Where is Calista?”

“Calista is in her room,” Her room? That sounds a little too…permanent. Her father senses her confusion. "Meaning, she is going to live with us for the time being, at least until we can help her. Before you ask, I can’t tell you why. This is a private matter she asked me not to share with you.”

“But mother wants me to talk with her. How am I supposed to keep quiet about the thing I want to know most?”

“Please, for your sake don’t press the poor child. She’s been through enough.”

“As long as she’s not trying to turn my family against me—whatever she did clearly has my mother bewitched.”

“No one could bewitch your mother.” Her father laughs with an air of cordiality. “And please be kinder while addressing her. It hurts her feelings that you hold her in such low regard.”

What feelings? The woman was a right battle-axe. And if she was upset about Cordelia holding her to a lower standard, than maybe she should have tried to be kind. At least her father was making an effort.

Cordelia sighs. “If I go inside, what will I get in return?”

“The knowledge that our world isn’t what we thought it was, Cordelia. If you're willing to keep an open mind about all of this…you could learn a lot about Fitz and the lad.”

There’s that lad again.

“…Fine, I’ll go.” Cordelia walks away from the beachfront, wiping them onto the grass. Her father does the same with his soles. “How did you get wrapped up with Willa Corp?”

“I’d like to tell you, but I feel you need more proof before I can. And, if your mother allows it.” His stare is soft. “I don’t want you to stare at me like I’m a different person.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Come, it’s best we go inside.” He rests his hand on Cordelia’s back and guides her to the front doors.

“Cordelia, there you are! Remember when I told you I couldn’t show you any proof regarding dimensions, fractures, yadda yadda?” Phoebe greets both Cordelia and Aleck at the door. “I wanted to look for you myself, but I’m quite excited to show you this.” Why would Phoebe care if Cordelia believed any of this? It’s not like it’d make a difference in the long run…

“How do you have proof?”

“Fitz has a video—he’s in the sitting room with your mom. Come.” Cordelia’s not sure that she wants to. If there’s a video—god—she’s not ready for this! It’s much more comfortable not believing, not understanding. But now, what other choice did she have? If she wanted to explore Radjerd’s world—no—that’s her father getting into her head.

Phoebe brings Cordelia and her father to the sitting room—Radjerd and her mother sit on opposite settees. The blond man beside Radjerd must be Fitz…his appearance resembles her father in his youth. And those eyes—their coolness only rivalling her mother’s stare. She does her best to remain stoic and unassuming, but inside, she can barely keep it together.

“Fitz, this is my daughter, Cordelia.”

He can understand Weltish? Cordelia’s impression of him is off—an associate of Radjerd’s could be bilingual. He says nothing, holding out his hand. His stare is unfocused. Cordelia also keeps silent, returning the pleasantry—his hand is clammy. She studies his face, his eyelids look swollen—had he been crying? Cordelia lets go of his hand and sits next to her mother, exchanging glances with Radjerd. Her father joins her on the settee.

“I was chatting with Cordelia about your video. Do you mind showing it to her?”

“I don’t want to scare her.” The man says offputtingly. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”

“But it might help her understand what we’ve discussed,” Phoebe mutters.

The man named Fitz lets out a long-drawn sigh. “Cordelia. Are you interested in being scarred for life?”

“Not particularly,” She responds in the same demeaning tone. “But Phoebe thinks I should be.”

Fitz motions for her to approach. Her father follows. She's curious why her mother remains seated. Did she already see this scarring video?

“Just…prepare yourself. It’s not easy to watch.” Fitz warns, pressing play on his phone.

A whooshing sound plays from the device, the atmosphere is painted in vivid tones of purple. Cracks, just as Radjerd had described are littered through the sky. Her eyes widen when she hears faint screams in the distance. Flashes of lightning tear through the atmosphere, as the camera moves to Twin Waves Café…a brunette woman lies on her stomach, unconscious—or perhaps worse. She breathes in sharply, looking away as she feels a warm hand on her shoulder. She wants to say what she’s seeing is a work of fiction. But, to see something so blatantly in front of her like this—it’s hard to deny it.

Cordelia can’t look anymore. It's too much