The girl sitting across from her was elegant, dressed in white lace, with delicate features that would have charmed anyone. Clara — the adopted daughter. The girl who had lived her life, worn her name, and smiled under her parents' love.
"I thought it'd be nice to welcome you properly," Clara said, smiling sweetly. "We're sisters now, after all."
Emily's gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat longer than comfort allowed. There was no anger, no jealousy — just quiet assessment.
"Sisters," Emily echoed. "How lovely."
The faint smile on her lips didn't reach her eyes.
Dinner continued, the air thick with polite conversation. Clara talked about her school, her friends, her charity projects. The parents nodded proudly, occasionally glancing at Emily as though trying to measure what they had lost.
But Emily's attention drifted. The silver bracelet on her wrist pulsed faintly again, almost warningly.
Someone nearby had a dark aura — faint, but there.
Her eyes scanned the room, subtle as the flick of a shadow. Her gaze stopped at the butler standing by the door. He wasn't breathing evenly. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he poured wine into a glass.
A scent — barely noticeable to anyone else — reached her. Metallic. Wrong.
In one fluid motion, Emily's hand darted out, catching her mother's wrist before she could drink.
"Don't," Emily said softly.
The glass tilted. A single drop of crimson slipped down the rim, landing on the tablecloth. The liquid sizzled faintly where it touched the air — like acid.
Clara froze.
The parents stared.
Emily's expression didn't change. "You might want to fire your butler," she murmured, her tone mild, her gaze icy. "The wine isn't what it seems."
Before anyone could respond, the butler dropped the bottle and ran — only to crash headfirst into an invisible barrier near the doorway. He screamed, clutching his head, before collapsing unconscious.
Emily slowly stood, her bracelet faintly glowing. "I'll explain later," she said softly. "For now, perhaps… dinner should end early."
No one dared to argue.
---
As she stepped outside into the cool night air, her phone buzzed. A message flashed on the screen:
> "Nice catch, Miss Emily. Seems you haven't forgotten your instincts."
— P.L.
She looked up toward the sky where the city lights shimmered like stars.
A faint smile curved her lips.
Perry Lang.
He had been there — watching.
And for the first time since her rebirth, Emily wondered if fate had followed her out of Hell.