Inheritance Redefined

Chapter Fourteen

Thalia Drakos sat upright, a silk scarf tied tightly around her throat, her posture as impeccable as her manicure.

Across from her, her assistant shifted nervously. "The girl… she matches some of the family features. Especially  her eyes. We've pulled every photo we can find on her."

"Photos lie," Thalia murmured without looking at him. "So do people. Maybe my grandson thought it would be a funny prank to pull on me."

Next to her was an image of the girl – Elara – skating. Spinning. Face partially blurred, but those eyes... one ice blue, one green. Familiar. Dangerous. The exact same as hers. As her family.

Thalia folded her hands, voice crisp. "If she is his daughter, I'll know the moment I see her. There are certain things that don't skip blood."

She turned her head slightly toward the window. Her reflection looked back at her – stern, sharp, and unyielding.

"She’s either a rumor," Thalia said lowly, "or she's blood."

---

The rink smelled like ice and rubber and boys who didn't understand the concept of deodorant, but Elara didn't mind.

She tugged on her gloves, fingers still sore from the incident, and stepped onto the ice. The cold kissed her cheeks. It felt familiar. Welcome.

Coach Garcia blew his whistle sharply. "Edge work, boys! If you don't stop skating like newborn babies, Elara's going to put you all to shame again."

There were a few grumbles, skates scraping as the boys shuffled into a straight line. From somewhere down the line, Elias muttered just loud enough for Elara to hear, "She's part machine, that's why she's so much better than us."

Elara turned her head slightly, hiding her amused smile. Elias's comment wasn't exactly kind, but it wasn't cruel either. And coming from Elias, that was basically a compliment.

"Come on, Elara," Coach barked. "Show them how it's done."

She moved into the center, blades cutting smooth and silent over the ice. Her posture sank low, weight balanced perfectly as she shifted through the inside edge, pulled into an arc, then out again – a clean, controlled spiral.

When she landed the finish and slowed to a stop, even Coach Garcia let out a satisfied grunt.

"Tighten your core and don't let your knees get lazy," he said, pointing at the rest of the group. "Watch her, boys. She's doing more with five percent body weight and no padding."

Elara skated back toward the bench, catching a flicker of a strange expression from Elias as she passed. Something unreadable. Maybe even guilty.

The rest of practice passed in a blur – drills, sprints, a few sloppy turns and one player who fell so hard he slid across the width of the rink and into the wall. Elara helped him up quietly. No one laughed.

By the time she unlaced her skates, the sun was barely up. The other players were leaving, but she lingered by the bench, rubbing and rolling out her wrists.

Elias's voice surprised her.

"You've gotten faster."

Elara looked up. He stood there, helmet under his arm, not meeting her eyes. His dark hair was damp from sweat, curling slightly at the edges.

"You're not so bad yourself," she said softly.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Hey… I, uh. I wanted to say something."

Elara stilled.

Elias let out a sharp exhale. "About the box. The one I burned."

Her chest tightened.