Clara was gone, but the house still bled silence.
Orla stood by the shattered window, arms wrapped around herself. Jakob was asleep upstairs—finally—his little body curled into the blanket Stanley had wrapped him in. But even sleep felt dangerous now.
Stanley emerged from the hallway, his face sharp with exhaustion, gun still tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
“She didn’t get far,” he said. “I saw tracks heading into the woods. She’s not gone.”
Orla turned to him slowly, eyes heavy. “Then let’s not pretend anymore. Let’s finish it.”
His gaze flickered. “You want to go after her?”
“No,” she said, voice low. “I want to make her come back.”
He crossed the room and pulled her into him.
“You don’t have to fight this alone,” he whispered into her hair.
“But it’s mine to end,” she s
