The drive back to Lower Falls felt like a descent from a different planet. One moment, Briar was sitting on the floor of a walnut-scented sanctuary on a hill; the next, she was pulling into the gravel driveway of the house she had grown up in, the porch light casting a judgmental yellow glow over the front yard.
She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her hair was a disaster, a few stray wood shavings were likely still tangled in her sweater, and the faint, earthy scent of cedar and deep green Jade paint clung to her skin like a confession.
She took a deep breath, trying to tuck the "homeowner" version of herself away, and stepped inside.
The house was quiet, but the kitchen light was on. Eliza was sitting at the small breakfast table, a half-empty cup of chamomile tea in
