The morning after Elias handed Orla Clara’s note, the house felt colder.
Even with the fireplace on.
Even with Jakob’s sleepy laughter echoing from upstairs.
Orla stared at the slip of paper again.
Let the first child lead. The second will follow. You will never be free until the mirror breaks.
Stanley read it over her shoulder again, this time with narrowed eyes.
“She wasn’t talking about Jakob,” Orla whispered. “She meant me. I’m the mirror.”
Stanley didn’t argue. His silence was heavy. Protective.
“Clara knew something,” Orla said. “Something I buried so far down I convinced myself it wasn’t real.”
Stanley set down his mug. “Then it’s time to un-bury it.”
They found the cousin.
Her name was Marlen Acker. She lived two towns over, alone, no job listed, just a string of anonymo
