Roommates

The next room. The words vibrated in Elena’s mind like a low-frequency hum, a warning her body understood even if her face remained a mask of tragic acceptance. She watched from the shadow of the doorway as Val began to move her things into the guest suite, her footsteps light and efficient on the hallway runner. This was the colonization of her home, one silk scarf and leather bag at a time.

"It’s so much safer here, El," Val said, her voice a breathless, frightened trill that would have fooled Elena only an hour ago. "The cottage... it sounded like the world was ending."

Elena leaned against the doorframe, her fingers curling around the cold metal of the flashlight. She watched Val unpack a small, velvet-lined travel case. There were vials of expensive-looking tinctures, a bottle of the chestnut hair dye Elena now recognized as a tool of the trade, and a series of high-end skincare products.

Then, Val reached deeper into the bag. She pulled out a compact, black semi-automatic pistol.

She didn't fumble with it. She didn't look afraid of it. She laid it on the mahogany nightstand with the casual indifference of a woman setting down a pair of reading glasses. The metal caught the flicking yellow light of the emergency candles, a dark, heavy weight in the center of the room.

Elena’s heart performed a slow, sickening roll. The woman wearing her sister's face wasn't just a con artist; she was armed.

"Is that... is that real?" Elena whispered, letting a tremble enter her voice. "Diana, why on earth do you have that?"

Val looked up, her expression a masterclass in synthetic practicality. She tucked a stray chestnut lock behind her ear, her eyes wide and soulful in the candlelight. She looked exactly like the Diana who used to be afraid of spiders.

"The world is a scary place for a woman traveling alone, El," Val said, her voice softening into that stolen cadence. "Especially in London. I took a course. Marcus knows about it. He actually encouraged me to bring it when the storm started getting bad."

She reached out and patted the gun, her fingers lingering on the textured grip. She looked past the barrel, her gaze locking onto Elena’s with a sudden, sharp clarity that stripped away the bohemian facade.

"There are so many people who would take advantage of a family like ours," Val murmured. "Especially now. When we're so isolated."

Elena felt the presence of Marcus in the hallway behind her, a heavy, silent shadow. They had her boxed in. The director and the lead actress, rehearsing the final act while her son slept twenty feet away.

"Just in case of looters," Diana said. But she looked at Elena.