a dead futur

ned m

rtains of a familiar room. My room, in the

re E

ways coveted Hawthorne cryptography. Our family's art, generations

wanted me, Emily Hawt

ir golden son, was meant to be

her crafted, a test for any suitor. Solve it tonight, at the gran

whispered the s

love

onquer business rivals, secure his place as the Kent heir. I fought

re

slaughter of my family. He wanted the Hawthorn

own son and daught

voice, cold and distant, echoed in my memory. "It was you, Emily. You and your damn famil

e fallen socia

I was

e engagement

edly ill. Confin

li

ing promises, planning a future that

llet, the searing heat of flames, faded aga

hings would

my dressing table, a marvel of p

the one who can truly see its heart, Em

its heart. He

ot get it

uld he

k on t

is expecting you downstair

thed m

began anew. And I