The night after Elias stood at the riverbank, Orla couldn’t sleep.
She lay beside Stanley, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling as his slow, steady breaths filled the room.
Her body was still, but her mind raced.
Clara had said she was a mirror.
And Elias—Elias had looked right through her when he said he’d been prepared.
For what?
She slipped from the bed quietly and padded to the study.
She turned the flash drive in her palm, debating whether to finish the video.
She hadn’t wanted to see what else Clara had recorded.
But now, she had no choice.
She opened the file.
Clara’s face returned to the screen.
Her voice was different in this one — softer, almost maternal.
“I never hated you, Orla,” she said. “I envied you.”
Orla leaned forward, breath catching.
“You had something I co
