The morning light felt like a lie.
Orla woke to silence—the kind that pressed against her eardrums with every thunder of her own heartbeat. Beside her, Stanley lay curled around her, face turned toward the wall. Aster and Elias slept in the next room, steeled by exhaustion. Jakob was still out cold, curled into his favorite armchair with a single stuffed wolf at his feet.
The house smelled of smoke from last night’s skirmish, and Orla could taste the iron tang of blood on her lips. She pushed herself up carefully and slipped from the bed, bare feet slipping on the cool floorboards.
She needed clarity. A plan. A place where Clara’s madness had begun.
In the study, Stanley was already awake, reloading his pistol at the desk.
“Thought you could sleep,” he murmured without looking up.
Or
