Deborah's POV
Last night's dinner was nothing less than a battle, albeit one without swords or bloodshed.
The Vandran family's dining room was a sprawling, opulent space dominated by an intimidatingly long table at its center.
At the head sat the Vandran patriarch and his wife, embodying a regal authority that demanded attention.
Emily, seated next to Barron, exuded charm as she directed her entire focus toward him.
Her unwavering attention spoke volumes, though it was evident that her warm smiles and polite laughter were meticulously calculated.
I was placed farther down the table, beside Emily's elder brother and his wife.
It wasn't a mistake—this seating arrangement was deliberate, designed to subtly isolate me from the heart of the conversation without appearing overtly dismissive.
Emily's eyes barely left Barron throughout the meal, her gaze like a net, attempting to ensnare his attention completely.
Outwardly, her enthusiasm appeared genuine. However, a brief probe with Telepathy revealed the layers beneath.
Her feelings for Barron were genuine to some degree; she admired him and truly found him charming. But these emotions were overshadowed by something far more calculated—a relentless determination to secure this alliance.
To Emily, Barron was not just a person; he was an opportunity, a means to elevate her standing within the Vandran family and secure her future.
Barron, however, couldn't have been more indifferent. His mind, as I glimpsed through Telepathy, was a stark contrast to hers. He saw Emily as nothing more than a polite host, someone whose attention he neither sought nor cared for. His thoughts carried no trace of scheming, no hunger for power or status. Unlike most people in Sky City, Barron's values were startlingly egalitarian. He genuinely believed in treating everyone as equals, an outlook that rendered him an anomaly in this world of calculated alliances and social hierarchies.
At the table, every exchange felt like a carefully choreographed dance.
The Vandran patriarch and his wife led the conversation with the precision of seasoned strategists, their questions laced with subtle probes.
Emily's brother and his wife mirrored this approach, their polite inquiries hiding sharp edges as they attempted to pry into my intentions and alliances.
"Miss Deborah," Emily's sister-in-law said smoothly, raising her glass with an elegant tilt. Her gaze was both polite and probing. "I hear the Edwards family has made impressive strides in technology recently. Would you be able to share some insights with us?"
I placed my utensils down gently and offered a serene smile, my voice steady. "Technological advancements in our family are overseen directly by my father. I'm afraid I'm not privy to the specifics. However, if you're interested, I'm sure my father would be happy to discuss this at our next gathering."
Her smile faltered ever so slightly before she recovered, her expression slipping back into its polished mask. "Of course. Mr. Lugh Edwards has always been known for his vision."
Her tone carried an undercurrent of curiosity, tinged with suspicion. She wasn't just inquiring about technology; she was fishing for information about the Edwards-Thorne collaboration—a topic I had no intention of addressing.
Emily's gaze shifted toward me, subtle but noticeable. Her attention had been so fixated on Barron that I hadn't expected her to turn her focus in my direction. The change was enough to put me on edge.
When we first met, Emily's hostility toward me had been palpable. In her eyes, I was nothing more than a nuisance—a third wheel intruding on her time with Barron. But as the dinner progressed, I noticed a shift in her demeanor. Her initial frostiness softened, replaced by a warmth that bordered on friendliness.
It didn't take long for me to uncover the reason.
Emily's interest in me wasn't personal. It was strategic. Using Telepathy, I caught glimpses of her thoughts, and her intentions became clear: she hoped to extract information from me about Tirfothuinn. Her plan was to use anything she learned to impress her father and outmaneuver her brother in the race for the Vandran family's inheritance.
"Miss Deborah," Emily said with a charming smile, her tone as sweet as honey. "I heard you've spent time in the underground cities. Life there must have been so challenging. What was it like?"
Her voice carried a practiced warmth, but I recognized the sharp edge beneath it. She wasn't merely curious; she was steering the conversation, probing for information under the guise of politeness.
I returned her smile, equally composed. "The conditions were certainly difficult," I said evenly, "but I was fortunate to meet many kind and supportive people. It made all the difference."
Emily tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as though weighing my words. "That must have been a unique experience," she replied. Then, after a beat, she added, "I also heard that you lived in Tirfothuinn for a time. Is it as mysterious as people say?"
Her tone was light, almost offhand, but I could sense the shift in her focus. This wasn't a casual remark. She was carefully testing the waters, trying to draw out details without appearing overly direct.
"Tirfothuinn is certainly an interesting place," I said, maintaining an even tone. "But most of what people say about it is based on rumors. It's hard to separate fact from fiction."
Her smile didn't falter, but the faint narrowing of her eyes betrayed her frustration. I could tell she was hoping for more, something specific she could latch onto.
Before she could press further, I shifted the conversation, my tone becoming lighter. "Compared to distant places like that, I prefer to focus on the present. Living with my father, rebuilding our relationship after twenty-two years apart—that's what truly matters to me now."
Emily's expression remained composed, but her smile tightened, losing some of its earlier charm. The disappointment in her eyes was fleeting, but I caught it before she smoothed her features into their usual polite mask.
"Of course," she said with an understanding nod, though the edge in her voice was impossible to miss. "Family is always important."
Her attempt to redirect the conversation was transparent, but I let her retreat, offering nothing further for her to latch onto. I could sense her recalculating, weighing whether it was worth pursuing the topic or shifting her attention elsewhere.
In the silence that followed, I took a sip of water, maintaining the façade of ease. Emily's probing had been subtle but relentless, her questions crafted to appear innocent while digging for cracks. She hadn't found any this time, but her persistence hinted that she wouldn't stop here.
As the conversation drifted to other topics, I remained watchful. Emily's calculated demeanor might have fooled others, but to me, her intentions were as transparent as glass. This was only the beginning of her attempts to uncover what she wanted. For now, I had held my ground, but I knew she wouldn't give up so easily.
By the time the dinner ended, I was utterly drained.
Every word exchanged at the table had felt like a duel, each sentence wrapped in pleasantries but hiding sharp intent. Everyone was probing, everyone was deflecting, and everyone was trying to gain the upper hand.
Everyone except Barron.
Throughout the evening, his demeanor remained relaxed and unguarded. Even when faced with the Vandran family's veiled attempts to draw him into their schemes, he deflected their questions with disarming ease. His answers, while seemingly lighthearted, were carefully crafted to reveal nothing of value. His calm, almost playful attitude set him apart from the calculated tension that filled the room.
When I used Telepathy to glimpse his thoughts, I found only honesty and clarity. He harbored no romantic feelings for Emily, nor did he share the ambitions that consumed so many others in Sky City. His principles made him an anomaly—a man unmoved by power or status.
After dinner, Emily escorted us back to our rooms, her warmth unwavering. She even made a point to bid me a personal farewell, her smile as bright as ever.
But I knew better.
Her outward friendliness was far from genuine.
Telepathy had stripped away the pretense, revealing the truth behind Emily's carefully crafted demeanor. Her goodwill was nothing more than a calculated act, a thin veneer of politeness designed to mask her true intentions. She extended kindness only as long as she believed I could offer something of value to her ambitions.
The thoughts I uncovered were sharp and focused, like the precision of a blade. Emily wasn't simply curious about me or Tirfothuinn—she was strategizing, probing for any weakness, any detail that could bolster her position within the Vandran family. Every warm smile, every gracious word was a tool, wielded with the skill of someone accustomed to maneuvering within the delicate web of familial and political dynamics.
I could sense the precarious balance she maintained, feigning interest and camaraderie while secretly calculating every possible outcome. Her intentions were clear: if I proved useful, I would be treated as an ally, albeit a temporary one. But the moment she realized I had no intention of yielding anything valuable, her façade would collapse, replaced by indifference—or worse, hostility.
This realization left no room for doubt. Emily's kindness was as conditional as it was fleeting, a thin veil that would dissolve the instant she deemed me irrelevant. And when that moment came, I needed to be prepared.
Back in my room, I finally allowed myself to exhale. The dinner had been exhausting, a constant battle of wits and restraint. But it had also been illuminating.
The Vandran family's desperation was clear. Every word, every gesture, every glance—they were all calculated moves in a game of power and survival. Their house of cards was teetering, and I needed to tread carefully if I wanted to navigate this storm unscathed.