Tricia couldn’t sleep.
Even with the doors locked, the lights dimmed, and the estate wrapped in layers of silence, her mind stayed alert—anxious and humming.
The music box sat on the dresser, closed but not forgotten. Its tune had long stopped playing, but the melody still echoed in her skull, each note stirring something deeper than fear.
It wasn’t just a threat.
It was a message.
A memory she couldn’t quite access.
She sat cross-legged on the rug, files and photographs spread across the floor—some from the hidden archive, others from rooms she now explored without fear. She didn’t know what she was looking for. A clue. A slip. Anything that would tell her why her.
Why her name had been filed long before Christopher had ever seen her.
Why someone knew what necklace she'd be wearin
