The morning after the archive, Orla couldn’t sleep.
Her fingers still smelled of earth and blood. She stood alone on the porch of the old farmhouse, watching the mist curl across the field like a slow exhale. Stanley had tried to pull her back to bed, murmuring something about rest, but she’d kissed his cheek and slipped out before the sun climbed the sky.
Behind her, the house was quiet. Too quiet.
Jakob slept soundly curled against Aster on the living room couch, one arm around her waist as if he’d sensed the shift in her heart. Aster hadn’t moved all night. Her breathing was steady, for once. Peaceful.
It scared Orla more than anything.
Elias was upstairs. He hadn’t said a word since the moment Orla dropped her blood into the vial and the archive sealed forever. He’d watched her li
