The house wasn’t safe anymore.
Orla could feel it in her bones.
Every creak, every breeze through the curtains, every misplaced object felt like a warning. The kind that came before war.
“We have three days,” Aster said, sitting cross-legged on the floor like a shadow that had always been part of the room. “He’ll come. He always does when he thinks he’s won.”
“Why would he show up now?” Jakob asked.
“Because I sent him the photo,” she said. “Of Orla. Of the locket.”
Orla flinched.
“You baited him?”
Aster nodded.
“You’re the one thing he could never control. He thought Clara broke you. If he sees you alive, in one piece—he’ll lose control. That’s when he’s vulnerable.”
Elias paced behind her, hands clenched.
“And if he doesn’t fall for it?”
“Then we force his hand.”
Later that
