Page 61 of The Syndicater (Dark Verse 6)

"Yes," Lyla reassured her. She was okay, better than okay. Just a bit overwhelmed.

Zephyr gave her a long look that made her think nothing got past her. "You know, you have absolutely gorgeous hair?" she began, changing the topic. "That natural shade of red is so rare."

Lyla touched her strands, longer than the length she had chopped them off at, feeling a little self-conscious, a flush coming over her face at the compliment. "Thanks."

Zephyr raised her hand, her colorful wedding ring catching in the sunlight, before pausing. "May I?"

Lyla gave a nod and the other woman ran her fingers through her hair, rubbing the ends between her tips, holding them and moving them.

"You want a haircut?" Zephyr suggested, her eyes going over her face. "You have such lovely bone structure, I feel like a little cut will frame everything so nicely. What do you say?"

Lyla felt her nose tingle. She'd never had a professional haircut. Her handlers had wanted her hair long and forbidden her to cut it. It was one of the best selling points for her. All she'd been allowed was a little trim at the ends or the threat of a severepunishment. Until she had cut them off herself in a frenzy, they had remained pretty much untouched. And here was a woman who didn't really know her, who offered her kindness. She had no idea what it meant to her.

Lyla gave a tiny nod and saw a wide smile transform Zephyr's face, dimples popping in her cheeks that made her look so pretty.

Zephyr clapped her hands. "Yes! Come with me." Taking hold of her hand, she pulled her inside and down a corridor to a part of the mansion Lyla hadn't been in yet. It was slightly different than hers, with more artwork on the walls and more warmth. They went down one corridor, turned into another, and up a flight of stairs, so long Lyla forgot the direction she had come from. It would be so easy to get lost in this place.

Finally, Zephyr stopped in front of a wooden door, punched in a code to the side, and opened it. "Tada!"

Lyla entered what looked like a suite, something similar in size to the Gladestone hotel she had stayed in, but with a completely different vibe. The Gladestone suite had been very modern; this felt more antique. Antique sitting area with polished furniture, antique wooden windows right opposite the entrance, antique rugs, and drapes. Even the doorknob was antique. Lyla's suite in the other wing was smaller, more suited for one person than a couple, and less antique, more gothic. But the living and dining spaces were more opulent. She realized that each wing had a different interior theme and marveled at that for a moment. Howamazingwas that?

Zephyr opened one door and went in. Lyla glanced in and saw it was the bedroom. All she caught was a peek at the twisted sheets before her face flushed, and she immediately pulled back, not wanting to invade their privacy.

Zephyr came out with a large kit, leading her to another door. "Come on."

It was a large tiled room with a fancy sink and faucet, a huge ornate mirror, and a high stool in front of the counter.

"Hop up."

Lyla hesitated, before getting on the stool. Zephyr opened a cabinet and got a towel out, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"Won't it make a mess?" Lyla asked, not wanting to be the cause of any problems.

Zephyr shook her head. "I'll clean it up. You don't worry about a thing. Just relax and trust my expertise."

Lyla inhaled deeply, seeing in the mirror as Zephyr turned the faucet on, taking some water in her hand and wetting her hair slowly but steadily. Once that was done, she opened her kit and took out some kind of clips. a pair of scissors and a comb. She brushed her hair back, focused, and looked at the uneven lengths before sectioning it. Lyla watched in fascination as Zephyr's hands moved with surety over the strands, a confidence the likes of which Lyla had never experienced herself.

That was what she realized all the women in her brother's world had in common—confidence. They were all confident about something or the other, all of them carrying an air of certainty that came from being good at something. And even though Dr. Manson had specifically told her not to, Lyla compared and found herself coming up short.

What was she confident about in herself?

She didn't know.

She swallowed.

"You know," Zephyr began, working without stopping. "Alpha has this place that helps survivors. My sister used to work and help there."

Lyla's heart gave a thud at the mention of her old friend. She wondered what it would have been like if she'd been alive. Would she have remembered her or forgotten? Lyla didn't even know how old they had been. The concept of birthdays wasforeign to her. She made a mental note to ask her brother about it when she saw him again.

"I used to volunteer there," Zephyr continued, finishing clipping her hair in the final section, all the twists making her look weird. Lyla had no idea how the hell Zephyr would figure out what to cut from where in the form that her hair was in.

"What did you do?" Lyla asked, curious.

Zephyr smiled. "Give free haircuts."

Was this a charity case for her, too? Was that what she was? She hoped not.

"We girls—" Zephyr told her, taking out her scissors and pulling one section out "—have so much importance attached to our looks, people don't realize how much difference a little change can make." She snipped and moved on. "It's like shedding your old skin, becoming something new. It's a choice you make—" she made another cut "—and you get more liberated."

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