The house was quiet. Ivy was at the school, the maid must be upstairs somewhere, Eaton was polishing the silver. She could have just slipped out. Would have, a week ago. Today she slid to the drawing room door and peeked in.

Mama sat at her easel, moving her brush over a canvas with furious strokes. The light was all wrong in the room. Clouds had rolled in sometime while Lily was in her darkroom. Usually, that’s when Euphemia Blackwell would pack up her paints and shift to another task—a preliminary sketch, perhaps, or a composition study in pastels or watercolors, while she sorted through how best to achieve what she wanted in her actual oil painting.

“Mama?”

No response.

Taking a deep breath, she edged into the room. “Mama, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I . . . I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing you—which is, of course, exactly what I did by trying to spare you. I see that now. But I want you to know . . .” She gripped her bag and wished her mother would just turn around and look at her. Scold her. Yell at her. “I’m going to the OB now. I had some film I brought home that is theirs. I’m returning it, along with my resignation.”

“Why?”

Lily blinked. Mama’s voice was so flat. Lifeless. “Why what?”

Still she didn’t turn, just continued to lay down angry strokes of red on the canvas. “Why are you resigning? If it’s because I’m upset, then don’t. I won’t have the entire Intelligence Division blaming that on me too.”

“It isn’t. It’s—you were right, I think. This isn’t what my art should be used for.” Her throat went tight, stopping any other words.

Usually, Mama would have lured more out of her with a well-placed question. Usually, she would have come over and wrapped her arms around her.

Now she didn’t even slow in her work. Lily swallowed down the emotion and turned. “I shouldn’t be gone long.”

Silence followed her out, through the familiar neighborhoods, all the way to the Old Building. Because it was her habit, she went in the back. But up the stairs, not down. It wouldn’t matter if anyone recognized her. Zivon had apparently seen her anyway, had put it all together.

Zivon. Daddy had forbidden her from seeking him out, made her promise she would report directly home and not meet him and Clarke and Ivy in the park. That no more invitations would be issued. That she wouldn’t try to find him here.