*Alexander*
The streets are quieter than I expect, the torches that once marked the execution fading into scattered glimmers behind me. The air still carries the acrid tang of death, fear, and grief, and I can’t shake the memory of Bridget Bishop’s body jerking against the rope. Each step toward Mistress Carter’s house feels heavy, as though the weight of what we’ve seen is pressing down on my chest.
I knock on her door, and a moment later, Miriam appears, her face calm and composed as always. Her eyes catch mine, and I know she’s read the sorrow and anger waning behind them.
“Mistress Carter,” I begin, my voice low. “I wanted to tell you that Bridget Bishop was hanged tonight.” I pause, seeing her expression shift, though it remains unreadable. “I thought perhaps you might have somethi
