Petra pov
I had not planned to stay in the corridor.
I was on my way back from the bathroom when I heard her voice coming from around the corner, low and careful, the voice a person used when they were making a call they did not want anyone to overhear. I recognised it immediately.
Carina.
I stopped.
I pressed myself against the wall and stayed very still and listened.
"Hello, Jane," she said.
A pause while the other end responded.
"No," she said. "I did not find the painting at Damien's place."
I stayed where I was.
Painting.
The word landed and sat there and I turned it over in my mind the way you turned over something unfamiliar, looking for the shape of it, trying to understand what it connected to.
What painting?
I had been inside Damien's family home once, years ago, bef
