A metallic tang still clung to Daisy's fingers, phantom evidence of Sasha's desperate grip. Sasha's agitated refusal to discuss the symbol, the way her eyes darted away, gnawed at Daisy. It felt like a fresh wound, a betrayal she hadn't anticipated from her closest friend. The world felt suddenly sharper, every shadow deeper, every smile a potential mask. Her room offered no sanctuary. She walked into it, the air thick with unspoken tension. A familiar scent—Elaine's perfume—hung heavy. Daisy’s stomach clenched. A drawer, usually secured, sat slightly ajar. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Elaine sat on the edge of Daisy’s bed, not looking up. Her back was to the door, shoulders hunched, completely engrossed. Daisy’s gaze fell to Elaine’s lap. A small, familiar notebook rested open there, its pages filled with Daisy's frantic scrawl. Daisy’s breath hitched. A tremor ran through her. On the nightstand, beside a discarded tissue, lay her razor. A dark, dried smear stained the silver edge. Her secret, exposed. Her rawest, most desperate thoughts, laid bare for the one person she struggled most to trust. "What are you doing?" Daisy's voice was a low growl, ripped from her throat. It sounded foreign, dangerous. Every muscle in her body tensed, ready to spring. Elaine flinched, her head snapping up. Her face, usually so composed, paled. Her eyes, wide with a fleeting guilt, met Daisy's. The notebook, clutched in her hands, trembled slightly. "Daisy! You startled me." Elaine's voice was too high, too bright. She quickly closed the notebook, a desperate gesture, trying to hide what she'd already seen. Her gaze flickered to the razor, then back to Daisy, a mixture of alarm and sorrow clouding her features. Pure, unadulterated rage flooded Daisy. Her chest burned. "You were reading my private journal!" Each word was spat, laced with venom. "How dare you!" "I… I didn't mean to, honey." Elaine stood, the notebook still held tight. Her eyes were swimming with an emotion Daisy couldn't quite decipher—pity? Fear? "I just… I saw the drawer open. And then I saw this. And then…" "And then you helped yourself to my deepest thoughts? My pain?" Daisy stepped closer, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Her vision blurred at the edges. This was a violation, worse than any argument. This was an invasion of her soul. "I was worried, Daisy. I saw… I saw the razor." Elaine gestured vaguely, her voice softening, morphing into a tone of concern that only stoked Daisy's fury further. "And then the blood. I just wanted to understand. To help." "You want to help?" Daisy scoffed, a bitter, humorless sound. "You help by invading my privacy? By prying into the one place I thought was safe?" She snatched the notebook from Elaine’s grasp, her fingers brushing against Elaine’s. The contact felt electric, repulsive. Elaine recoiled, her face etched with hurt. "I only wanted to make sure you were okay. Your father and I… we care about you, Daisy." "Don't. Don't you dare pretend this is about caring." Daisy backed away, clutching the notebook to her chest as if it were a shield. Her breath came in ragged gasps. The shock of discovery was slowly giving way to a cold, hard suspicion. Elaine looked away, her shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry, Daisy. Truly. I shouldn't have looked. It was wrong." But the apology felt hollow, a practiced response. Daisy watched her, scrutinizing every nuance. Elaine’s eyes still held a lingering shadow, a depth of knowledge that hadn't been there before. It was more than just concern. It was something else. Something hidden. Her mind raced, connecting disparate pieces. Sasha’s symbol. The way Sasha had clammed up. Now Elaine, invading her privacy, seeing her darkest secret, and acting… too apologetic. Too calm, almost. "That tattoo," Daisy blurted, the question catching Elaine off guard. It was an abrupt shift, but Daisy needed answers. She needed to throw Elaine off balance, to see if the practiced calm would crack. "The one on your wrist. What does it mean?" Elaine froze. Her eyes widened fractionally before narrowing, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift. A small, tight smile appeared on her lips, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "My tattoo? Oh, that old thing?" "Yes, that old thing," Daisy pressed, her voice sharp. "What is it? A lightning bolt? It looks like the symbol Sasha has. The one on her jacket." Elaine laughed, a light, tinkling sound that grated on Daisy's raw nerves. It felt forced, designed to deflect. "Sasha? Really? What a coincidence! It's just a silly design, Daisy. Something I got when I was young and foolish. A youthful indiscretion, nothing more." Youthful indiscretion. The words hung in the air, hollow and dismissive. Daisy’s jaw clenched. She knew that phrase. It was the adult equivalent of 'it's none of your business,' wrapped in a saccharine layer of nostalgia. "So, it means nothing?" Daisy challenged, her gaze fixed on Elaine's face, searching for any tell, any flicker of dishonesty. "You just randomly decided to get a lightning bolt when you were 'young and foolish' and it happens to look exactly like something Sasha wears?" Elaine’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes hardened a fraction. Her hand, unconsciously, went to her left wrist, covering the tattoo for a fleeting moment. A defensive gesture. Daisy didn't miss it. "Exactly! We all do silly things when we're younger, don't we?" Elaine’s tone was light, airy, as if discussing the weather. "You wouldn't believe some of the choices I made back then. This one just stuck. It's a reminder, I suppose, of a time when I thought I was terribly edgy and profound." Daisy felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. Elaine was skilled. Too skilled. Her answers slid away like water off a duck's back, leaving no purchase. It wasn't just avoidance; it was practiced evasion, a well-rehearsed performance. "So it's not connected to anything important?" Daisy insisted, pushing, desperate for a crack in the facade. "Not to… mom? Or your past?" Elaine’s smile faltered for a second, a fleeting ghost of a wince. But then it returned, stronger, firmer. "Goodness, no, Daisy. What on earth would my silly tattoo have to do with your mother? That's quite a leap, isn't it?" She chuckled, a dismissive sound that was meant to reassure but only deepened Daisy's suspicion. "Sometimes a lightning bolt is just a lightning bolt, sweetie. Don't read too much into it. You've got quite an imagination, you know." The insult, thinly veiled as a compliment, stung. Daisy felt her face flush with anger and frustration. She was being dismissed, patronized, treated like a child making up stories. It was infuriating, but more than that, it was terrifying. Elaine was hiding something. Daisy was certain of it. The way she'd reacted to the notebook, the way she so smoothly deflected the tattoo question, the almost imperceptible tensing of her body. It wasn't just a silly youthful indiscretion. It was a secret. A vital one. The paranoia, a constant hum beneath the surface of Daisy's life, suddenly flared into an undeniable blaze. Everyone seemed to be keeping things from her. Sasha. Now Elaine. And what about her father? What did he know? "I think you're lying," Daisy stated, her voice quiet but firm. Her eyes bored into Elaine's, trying to pierce through the polite veneer. "I think you're hiding something from me. Something about that tattoo. Something important." Elaine's expression shifted, hardening slightly. A flicker of something cold, almost imperious, entered her eyes, quickly masked by a sigh. "Daisy, I understand you're upset about… about your journal. And I truly am sorry for that. But you're letting your imagination run wild now. There's nothing to hide. It's just a tattoo." She turned, moving towards the door, effectively ending the conversation. "Why don't you try to calm down? We can talk about this later, when you're feeling less emotional." The condescension was a physical blow. Daisy watched her go, a knot of fury and desperation tightening in her stomach. She felt infantilized, powerless. Elaine thought she was stupid. She thought she would just drop it. But Daisy wouldn't. This wasn't just about a tattoo anymore. It was about the carefully constructed wall of secrets that seemed to surround her, that everyone else seemed to be a part of. She needed to know. She *had* to know. As Elaine reached the doorway, she paused, offering a faint, strained smile over her shoulder. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, then. We can talk about… the other things… when you're ready." Then she was gone. Daisy stood rooted to the spot, her gaze still fixed on the empty doorway. Her mind replayed Elaine's every gesture, every word, every subtle shift in expression. It felt like a puzzle, with pieces missing, or perhaps pieces deliberately obscured. Suddenly, something else registered. A detail she'd missed in her anger, a tiny imperfection on Elaine's skin. As Elaine had turned, the light had caught the area just beneath the tattoo, on the underside of her wrist. There, almost imperceptible, was a small scar. Shaped like a lightning bolt.

Chapter 15: The Veil of Ignorance