The heavy double doors of the penthouse sunroom didn't just swing open; they slammed against the reinforced glass walls with a violent force that set the white orchids shaking on their iron stands. The scent of rain, cold New York concrete, and cheap wet wool rushed into the suffocating room, tearing through the smell of the warm amber tea and the fresh, metallic tang of Marie’s sudden death.
I didn't move from the floor. My knees were still pressed into the hard white marble, my arms wrapped around Toby so tightly I could feel the small, frantic rhythm of his ribs pressing against my chest. His face was buried in the wool of my gray dress, his small body perfectly still, as if he had learned that making a sound in this house meant someone else stopped breathing.
"Silas!"
The voice tore
