Berlin’s late autumn carried a biting damp chill from the winds along the Spree River.
My studio had just secured the City Hall renovation project, and every day was spent arguing with German engineers over their stubborn regulations.
I liked being busy like this. It left no room to think about the past.
My mother’s condition had improved miraculously. Sometimes she would suddenly become lucid, watching me work in front of my drafting table as she softly said, "Elara, there’s light in your eyes."
That light was something Magnus had spent seven years nearly extinguishing.
So when he appeared downstairs outside my studio, I almost didn’t recognize him.
He wore a thin trench coat and had grown frighteningly thin, his cheekbones sharp and his eyes sunken. There was no trace left of Vanc
