The weight of the revelation sat heavy in Amelia's chest, pressing against her ribs like something tangible. Her mother—her own mother—had possessed the same ability. The same impossible, reality-bending power that had brought Celeste into existence.
She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into a void of questions with no clear answers.
Lina leaned back in her chair, lighting the cigarette she'd been keeping behind her ear. She took a slow drag before exhaling a curl of smoke toward the ceiling. "I take it your dad never told you any of this."
Amelia scoffed, gripping the leather-bound book tighter. "Of course not."
Celeste reached over, resting a hand on Amelia's knee. The warmth of her touch grounded her, pulling her back from the overwhelming spiral of everything she had just learned.
"So," Lina continued, crossing one leg over the other. "What's your plan?"
Amelia blinked at her. "My plan?"
Lina gave her a look. "Yeah. Because if the people who are after you—us, apparently—know even half of what I do? You don't have much time before they find you again."
Amelia's fingers curled into a fist. "I don't even know what I'm up against."
Lina sighed, tapping the ash from her cigarette into a ceramic dish on the table. "We can start by figuring out what they want. People don't hunt down living art unless they have a damn good reason."
Celeste's voice was quiet. "What if they don't want me at all?"
Amelia turned to her, confusion flickering in her chest. "What?"
Celeste's blue eyes were darker than usual, shadowed by something deeper. "What if… I was just the start?"
Lina's cigarette stopped halfway to her lips. "You think they're after Amelia."
Celeste nodded.
Lina let out a low curse under her breath.
Amelia shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. They came after you. Not me."
Celeste hesitated. "What if that was just to get your attention?"
Silence settled over the room like a thick fog.
Lina leaned forward, pressing her elbows to the table. "That's not the worst theory."
Amelia wanted to argue, wanted to say that it was ridiculous to think she was the target when Celeste was the one who had literally materialized from a painting. But something gnawed at her, something deep and unsettling.
Lina's voice pulled her from her thoughts.
"Look, if we're gonna figure this out, we need to start by answering one question." She pointed at the book still clutched in Amelia's hands. "What exactly did your mother do?"
Amelia swallowed.
There was only one way to find out.
She slowly flipped the book open again, her eyes scanning the pages, taking in the delicate sketches, the notes written in ink that had faded with time.
The first few pages were filled with what looked like formulas, calculations. Descriptions of paints and pigments, of specific mixtures and ratios. Her mother's notes were meticulous, almost scientific.
But the further she turned, the more unnatural the writings became.
Symbols she didn't recognize, entire paragraphs in a language she couldn't understand.
And then, tucked between two pages, a single slip of folded parchment.
Amelia carefully pulled it out, unfolding it with trembling fingers.
A drawing.
Of her.
Not as a child, not from any memory she could recall. It was a sketch of her as she was now, sitting at an easel, brush in hand, lost in the world of her own creation.
Her breath hitched. "This… This isn't possible."
Lina frowned. "What is it?"
Amelia turned the paper around for them to see. Celeste inhaled sharply.
"Your mother drew this?" Celeste whispered.
"She must have." Amelia's voice was barely above a breath. "But… how?"
Lina snatched the paper from her hands, scanning the corners, the strokes. Then her expression shifted—something sharp, something alert.
"Look here," she murmured, pointing to the bottom of the drawing.
There was a signature.
Not her mother's.
Just three initials, inked in delicate, careful strokes.
A.L.E.
Amelia's pulse roared in her ears.
"That's not my mother's signature," she said slowly.
Celeste reached for Amelia's hand, squeezing gently. "Then who is it?"
Amelia had no answer.
Lina exhaled through her nose. "Looks like you just got a new mystery to solve."
Amelia's fingers brushed over the initials.
She had thought she was digging into her mother's past.
But now, she wasn't so sure.
Because whoever A.L.E. was…
They knew about her.
The room was heavy with silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Lina stood and stretched, rubbing the back of her neck. "Look, I know a guy who deals in old manuscripts, the weird kind. Might be able to translate this."
Amelia nodded absentmindedly, still staring at the initials.
Celeste's fingers tightened around Amelia's. "Whatever this is, we'll figure it out."
Amelia looked at her, at the warmth in her blue eyes, and found something solid to hold onto in the middle of the chaos. "Yeah," she whispered. "We will."
But in the back of her mind, one question wouldn't let go.
Who else knew about her before she even knew herself?