As Lance opened the door, two figures came into view.

  Madame Hela sat behind her tiny desk, her gray-as-mercury hair twisted into a tight bun, red lips pursed around a cup of green tea. Her round, chubby face wore a smug, satisfied grin. Across from her, seated with perfect posture at the edge of the cramped room, was a man in a black tuxedo and matching boots. His blue eyes were striking, almost unnaturally bright, and his hair was a smooth blend of brown and blonde. He sat with his legs crossed, forcing a smile at Hela’s jokes—none of which were funny.

  As soon as they noticed Lance enter, Hela stood with a beaming smile, too polite to be real.

  “Well, you sure took your sweet time,” she said with a light laugh. “Anyway—this right here is Lance. He fits the description you and your partner desired in a child. He’s athletic, curious about the world, very humble, and shockingly obedient.”

  She paused.

  “Lance, this gentleman will be your new father. Say hello to Mr. Edwin.”

  Lance wasn’t surprised. He’d heard that exact speech before—Hela recycled it for every kid when couples visited. He turned toward the man and bowed slightly.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Edwin. I hope I can meet the expectations you and your wife have for me.”

  Mr. Edwin stood and walked toward him, his shoes echoing against the floor.

  “There’s no need to be so formal,” he said, smiling warmly. “I’ll be your dad from now on. What kind of son is formal with his own father?” He extended his hand.

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  Straightforward. Calm. Maybe a little too polished. But definitely not another Madame Hela, Lance thought, slightly relieved as he shook the offered hand.

  No one in the room looked happier than Hela.

  Finally, she was rid of him.

  Lance had been her problem child. Disobedient, rebellious, always pulling pranks. One of them had even started a fire in Hela’s office. It was no surprise he was the last one left behind while every other kid got picked. And now, the day she likely dreamed of had arrived.

  As they spoke a bit more, Lance looked up and asked, “Sorry if this sounds rude, but… where’s your wife? Wasn’t she supposed to be here?”

  Hela’s eyes shot him a death glare, but she said nothing.

  Mr. Edwin paused, then replied, “She wanted to surprise you. She’s preparing something at home. Though, I suppose it’s not a surprise anymore now that I’ve said that.” He chuckled softly. “Still—try to act surprised, would you?”

  “That’s very thoughtful of her,” Hela chimed in. “Although… wouldn’t it have made more sense to surprise him after he settled in?”

  Lance didn’t answer. He thought the same thing, but nodded politely at Mr. Edwin instead.

  After a bit more small talk, Edwin stood and grabbed his keys.

  “Bring your stuff outside. I’ll pull the car around.”

  “Okay,” Lance replied, a lightness in his voice he hadn’t felt in years. The time had come. He turned to glance back at Hela, half-expecting her to smile smugly again.

  But she wasn’t.

  She was covering her face with her hand.

  Lance tilted his head slightly. Was she… crying?

  No way.

  Was this another act? Some final performance?

  Before he could say anything, he stepped closer and asked gently, “Madame Hela—?”

  “Go place your luggage at the door,” she interrupted in a soft, wavering voice. “Don’t keep Mr. Edwin waiting. When you’ve finished, we’ll say goodbye… properly.”

  Lance hesitated, then gave a quiet nod and left the room.

  As the door clicked shut behind him, he exhaled deeply—then froze.

  Someone was sitting by the wall. Someone who had heard everything.

  It was Iris.