Chapter 225

Iris

“That’s beautiful, Mia,” I say, crouching down beside a small girl with pigtails who’s painting what appears to be a purple cat with wings. “Is that a flying cat?”

She giggles and shakes her head. “It’s my cat if she was a dragon. Her name is Mittens.”

“Well, dragon-Mittens looks very fierce,” I tell her with a smile. “I love the purple scales.”

Mia beams at me, and I move on to the next child. Today’s class has been particularly lively, with fifteen children from various backgrounds in attendance. Some are from the local orphanage, others from underprivileged schools across Ordan. None of them would have access to art supplies like these without our program.

It’s the most rewarding work I’ve ever done, and today I’m feeling especially proud as I watch them create their masterpieces.

“Everyone, we have about ten minutes left,” I announce to the class. “If you want to finish up your paintings, now’s the time!”

The children quickly make their final touches, some frantically adding details while others sit back, satisfied with their work. I move around the room, offering encouragement and assistance where needed.

By the time the class ends, the gallery is filled with unique artworks—everything from abstract shapes to detailed landscapes and made-up animals. As the children file out, escorted by their guardians or chaperones, each of them proudly carrying their creations, I can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

Alice approaches me as the last child leaves, a clipboard in her hand. “Another successful class,” she says with a grin. “The kids absolutely adore you, Iris.”

“I adore them too,” I reply as I start to gather up the paintbrushes and palettes. “How are the registration numbers looking for next month?”

Alice’s smile widens. “We’ve had to add another class already. We’re up to twenty-five children for the Tuesday session and twenty for Thursday.”

“That’s amazing!” When we first started the program, I was worried we might not get enough interest, but the response has been overwhelming. “Do we have enough volunteers to handle that many kids?”

“Hunter’s sister is coming on board now, and we’ve got a couple of art students from the university who have offered to help too,” Alice assures me. “So for now, thankfully, we’re covered.”

I nod, relieved. The last thing I want is to turn away children who want to participate. “Perfect. And the supplies?”

“The donation from Wellington Academy came through yesterday. We’ve got enough to last us through the spring.”

“You’re amazing, Alice,” I say gratefully. “I don’t know what I’d do without you running things here.”

She waves off my praise. “Please, this program was your passion project. I’m just helping with the logistics.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

I check my own watch and gasp. “The ultrasound! I better get going.”

“Go, go,” Alice says, taking the paintbrushes from my hands. “I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Now scoot.”

I give her a quick hug, grab my bag, and hurry out of the gallery. The day is crisp and clear, the early January air sharp in my lungs as I head toward my car. Despite the cold, I feel warm inside, thanks to the success of the art program—and, of course, the anticipation of seeing my baby for the first time on the ultrasound screen.

It’s nice to have something purely joyful to look forward to. Arthur is meeting us at the doctor’s office in an hour, and I can’t wait to see his face when we get our first glimpse of our child.

First, though, I need to pick up Miles from our apartment. Cliff and Augustine have been watching him while I taught my class. Normally I’d have taken him with me, but he was sleepy this morning, so I thought it best to let him rest.

The drive home is quick, and I spot Cliff in the lobby as I enter the building. He’s surrounded by boxes and arguing with what appears to be a moving person.

“No, I specifically told you to take the furniture to the second floor, not the fourth,” he’s saying to a burly man with a pair of overalls on. “It’s written very clearly right here on your instructions. See?”

“Well, you didn’t write it clearly enough,” the man huffs. “It’s not my fault you have sloppy handwriting.”

“Don’t try to push the blame on me—Iris!” Cliff notices me and looks relieved at the interruption. “Good afternoon.”

“Hi Cliff,” I say, glancing at the mess of boxes. “Everything okay?”

He sighs and gives the man a withering glare. “Just a delivery mix-up. The furniture for a new tenant was supposed to go to the second floor, but apparently, the delivery guys can’t read simple instructions, and now we’ve got a fire hazard on our hands because the fourth floor hallway is blocked.”

“Where’s Miles?” I ask, checking my watch. We need to leave soon if we’re going to make it to the doctor’s office on time.

“Oh, he’s with Augustine in her apartment,” Cliff says, turning back to the boxes. “They were making cookies last I checked.”

I frown slightly. “Augustine is watching him alone?”

“Yes, well, you know she’s been doing so well with her new medication. Hasn’t had an episode in weeks,” Cliff says. “I’m sorry, I would have stayed with them, but then this happened.” He gestures at the mess.

I chew my lower lip at that. Augustine has been more lucid lately, it’s true, but she still has moments of confusion. Leaving Miles alone with her isn’t exactly ideal after what happened with the kitten all those months ago. But I suppose that was a long time ago now.

“I’ll go get him,” I say, already heading toward Augustine’s apartment on the ground floor. “We’ve got an appointment to get to.”

I knock on the door, expecting to hear Miles’ excited footsteps rushing to answer, or at least Augustine’s call that she’s coming. But there’s nothing. Just silence.

I knock again, louder this time. “Augustine? Miles? It’s Iris.”

Still nothing.

My heart starts to beat a little faster. It’s probably nothing, I tell myself. Maybe they’re in the back bedroom and can’t hear me. Or maybe they went out to the playground, although Cliff would have mentioned that.

I try the doorknob, and to my surprise, it turns easily. The door isn’t locked.

“Hello?” I call out as I step inside. The apartment is quiet, the only sound the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. The lights are on, and there’s a tray of unbaked cookie dough on the counter,

But there’s no sign of Miles or Augustine in the kitchen or the small living room.

“Miles?” I call out, moving further into the apartment. “Augustine?”

I check the bathroom—empty—and then head toward Augustine’s bedroom. The door is partially open, and I push it wider.

“Augustine?”

The room is dim, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust, and when they do, I freeze in the doorway.

Augustine is lying on the floor beside her bed, unmoving. There’s a dark pool of what can only be blood surrounding her head, soaking into the light carpet.