Raisel’s POV
I waited, impatiently, as Mr. Beau and the man at the laptop—Jace, I think his name was—spoke in hushed tones. The name Jace felt familiar, like a half-remembered shadow flitting through my mind, but I couldn’t quite place it. Their conversation lingered in the background as I drifted, restlessly pacing the edges of the estate, the guard trailing me like a silent, watchful shadow. Maybe he was there to guide me, or maybe he was there to keep me from wandering into places I wasn’t supposed to see.
And then, I saw it—the room lined with photographs, a corridor of memories preserved in silver frames. This must be Mr. Beau’s own hall of ghosts. Among the faded images, my gaze settled on a wedding photo—a beautiful woman, his wife, her smile caught in time. Then I saw it: a famil
