Marlowe
"I knew," Marla said, quiet, steady despite the visible weight of the confession. "About the wrap. About the disguise. Not everything, not the full details, but enough. I knew almost from the beginning what you'd actually built for yourself here."
I stared at her, stunned. "You never said anything."
"What was there to say?" She held my eyes, something complicated and unreadable in her expression. "I watched you leave that house nineteen years old with nothing but stubbornness and a stolen name, and some part of me understood, even helping you cut that hair, exactly what you were actually attempting. I didn't need it spelled out further to recognize it when it kept working."
"You could have exposed me at any point. Told Dorian. Told the club, even, before I ever earned any trust
