Chapter 2

I tried to recall.

I let out a surprised exclamation and craned my neck toward the kitchen.

How did Flora react?

"She got startled, too. Her shoulders flinched," I said.

"No, you got it wrong," Mom said.

Her eyes were like a scalpel, cutting through that memory. "Your reaction was normal—surprised and concerned. You opened up, reaching out.

"But Flora was different.

"When the plate shattered, her first instinct wasn't to cry out or look toward the kitchen.

"Her whole body instantly recoiled inward, like she'd been jabbed with a needle.

"Her shoulders dropped, her neck went rigid, and her hands suddenly gripped her knees tight.

"It happened so fast that you could barely catch it, but it was real.

"That was a reflex, pure self-defense, born out of intense anxiety.

"She's like a bird that's been caged for years. Every sudden noise isn't just startling. It's a warning of danger.

"She reacted like a bird that's always jumpy, flinching at the slightest sound."

Mom paused, her voice growing even heavier. "The real kicker is, less than half a second after she recoiled, she suddenly put on a smile and asked if your dad is okay.

"The way she switched her expression was almost unnaturally fast.

"It was like someone flipped a switch. Snap, and just like that, she switched her mode.

"For most people, when they're startled, their expression hangs on for a while. There's a gradual shift from shock to calm.

"But Flora didn't have that.

"For her, keeping her face in check is as instinctive as breathing or grabbing a bite.

"What kind of person has to treat keeping their feelings in check like a survival skill?"

Mom locked eyes with me with a hint of pity in her gaze. "Alex, only in a place where saying the wrong thing or pulling the wrong expression could land you in trouble, or even get you hurt, would someone get good at that kind of survival tactic."

I felt a cold sweat trickle down my back.

After Mom said all that, that moment snapped into sharp focus in my mind.

I remembered Flora's stiff smile, and the way her knuckles turned white from gripping her knees so tightly.

I saw it back then, but I never gave it a second thought.

I just figured she was really freaked out.

"But the last detail—that's the one that really matters," Mom whispered, leaning in close. "It's almost proof there's a dark void in this girl's past."

Her breath was chilling against my ear. "I asked her about her childhood.

"I said, 'Flora, you're so impressive. You must've been the top student all the time, right? You definitely have lots of friends growing up.'"

I remembered that conversation.

It was the kind of small talk adults always made.

I remembered how Flora smiled and replied, "You're too kind, Mrs. Lee. I just tried my best. I got along well with everyone at school."

I didn't notice anything off at all.

"That's exactly where the problem is," Mom said after I repeated the conversation, getting right to the heart of it. "Flora said she got along well with everyone.

"That's an extremely vague, almost official kind of answer.

"When someone asks about your childhood friends, what's the first thing you think of?

"You'd think of one or two real people, and maybe a couple of things you did together.

"Like, 'I was super close with our class president back then. We even skipped class together.' or 'I've got a childhood friend I still talk to.'

"Her answer didn't have any names, real stories, or feelings, but just 'everyone'.

"That doesn't add up.

"So I pushed her a little more.

"I asked, 'Really? You must have some fun stories—like, where did you and your besties go to hang out?'"

I remembered that.

After hearing my mom's question, Flora hesitated for a moment, then put on a smile and said, "Oh, you know, just girl stuff—hanging out at the mall, catching a movie."

"Another canned response," Mom said, her voice cold as ice.

"She didn't mention a single place they went shopping, not a single movie they saw, and didn't even name a single friend.

"She described her childhood and teenage years like they were a blank page—so empty that it almost felt unreal.

"A person's memories are made up of countless specific people, moments, places, and emotions.

"When someone dodges all the details, and only uses vague, generic phrases to describe their past..."

Mom looked at me with deep eyes. "There are only two possibilities.

"First, Flora is lying. Everything she said about her past is made up, so she won't risk mentioning specifics. She's afraid that the more she says, the more likely she'll mess up.

"Second, her past is real, but it's so full of pain and darkness that she can't, or won't, bring it up. So she has to cover it all with an official, bulletproof answer.

"No matter which it is, it all leads to one conclusion: her identity is forged.

"Do you really think a girl who needs to forge her identity is some simple, 'nice' person?"