Chapter 145: Desperation Of The Dowager

The Dowager sat with her back impossibly straight, silver teacup poised delicately in her fingers though it was nearly empty, only a faint trace of steam curling from it. Her gaze rested on the basin, not on Lorraine, as though the still water held secrets she alone could read.

"You’re late," the Dowager murmured, her voice smooth but edged, like silk pulled over a blade.