Cassandra's flinch is almost invisible, covered almost perfectly by reaching for her waterglass. Her back stays very straight, her head immobile, not disturbing the intricate braiding woven into the back of the chair.

Delilah's smile brightens even further. "Isn't that lovely? She's become very dear to us, yes. Poor girl, we're all the family she has now."

The pale young man steps up beside Sylas, setting down the wineglass and again proffering his bare wrist, just above it. It would take preternaturally powerful hearing to catch the tiny sound that's stifled in Cassandra's throat as he does.