The door to Ceci’s gilded room clicked open to reveal Violet Bento, a vision of calculated benevolence holding a steaming bowl of broth. The scent of expensive herbs and slow-cooked chicken filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension coiling in the room.

“I noticed you didn’t come down,” Violet said, her voice a silken purr as she placed the bowl on the bedside table. “Aunt Nancy made this herself. It’s wonderful for your… condition.”

Ceci, perched on the edge of the bed ...