The first week on Palemar passed like a dream, soft-edged and slow.
Caleb woke each morning to the sound of waves and the smell of salt through the open windows. The bed beneath him was real, the sheets clean, the sunlight warm on his face. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he slept without a weapon within reach. The knife was still there, in the drawer beside the bed, but he didn't clutch it in his sleep. He didn't wake at every creak of the house settling. He simply slept, deep and dreamless, and woke to the sound of birds in the fruit trees outside.
The house was a sprawling structure of whitewashed walls and dark timber beams, built by Margot's architects in a style that blended colonial elegance with practical fortress design. It had wide verandas, shuttered windo
