Chapter 8 - THE BREAKING OF THE LOCK
For the first time in six years, Adrian Vale climbed the spiral stairs to the third floor in broad daylight.
I walked ahead of him, holding the silver key I had taken from Vance’s coat pocket during the commotion in the parlor. Behind us walked Hayes, carrying a tray of fresh water and clean linen.
We reached the white door at the end of the long, dark corridor.
Adrian stood before the oak door for a long moment. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his shoulders rigid. For all his wealth, his power, and his terrifying reputation in the city, he looked like a man standing before a ghost.
"She cried every night," Adrian whispered softly, almost to himself. "Vance told me that if I opened this door... if I let light and sound in... her nerves would collapse. He said she was too fragile to see me."
"She is not fragile, Mr. Vale," I said gently, fitting the silver key into the keyhole. "She is just lonely."
I turned the key.
The heavy brass lock clicked open with a sharp, echoing thud.
I pushed the heavy oak door open.
The room was vast, dark, and airless. Heavy velvet curtains barred every ray of sunlight, leaving the room illuminated only by a small, dying candle on a side table. In the center of the room stood a massive white canopy bed.
Sitting in the middle of the bed, wrapped in a oversized woolen shawl, was a tiny girl with pale skin and large, dark eyes that looked exactly like Adrian’s.
Juliet gasped, shrinking back against her pillows as the door opened.
"Clara?" she called out softly, her voice quavering with fear. "Is that you? Who is with you?"
Adrian stepped into the room.
The moment his eyes fell on his daughter, the cold, iron persona of the terrifying industrialist completely shattered. He dropped to his knees right on the floorboards, his heavy hands trembling as he reached toward the bed.
"Juliet..." he breathed, his voice cracking with an emotion he had kept buried for six long years. "My little bird..."
Juliet stared at him. She blinked, pulling her shawl closer around her small neck.
"Father?" she whispered, her eyes widening. "Are you... are you real? Dr. Vance said you were angry with me because I couldn't walk. He said you locked the door so you wouldn't have to look at me."
Adrian let out a choked sound that was half-gasp, half-sob. He pulled himself onto the edge of the bed and gathered his small daughter into his arms, burying his face in her hair.
"No, sweetie... no," Adrian wept, holding her tight against his chest. "I was never angry with you. I was lied to. I was so blind... so terribly blind..."
I stood by the doorway, tears streaming down my face as I watched the father and daughter embrace in the dim room.
Juliet looked over her father's shoulder, her dark eyes finding mine through the tears. She smiled—a tiny, radiant smile—and reached out one small hand toward me.
"Clara," Juliet whispered. "I stopped drinking the brown water three days ago."
Adrian froze. He pulled back slightly, looking down at his daughter’s pale face. "What did you say, Juliet?"
"Clara told me not to drink it," Juliet said, pointing her small finger at me. "I poured it into the fern like she told me. And look, Father..."
Juliet shifted her weight on the bed.
With slow, agonizing effort, her small legs—stiff, pale, and weak from years of forced disuse—began to move. She wiggled her toes, bent her knees, and swung her feet over the edge of the mattress.
Her feet touched the hardwood floor.
She stood up.
She was wobbly, her knees shaking like thin reeds in the wind, but she stood. She took one tiny, unassisted step toward her father before leaning against his chest.
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"I can stand, Father," Juliet smiled, her voice filled with quiet wonder. "The paths inside my back aren't burned at all."
Adrian held his daughter close, his tears wetting her hair, his dark eyes rising to meet mine with a look of profound, unpayable gratitude that no amount of gold could ever match.
