here the streets curled like secrets and every

vines and silence. The sign above the stone post was b

use. Es

s, windows covered in lace that hadn't yellowed like the rest of the buildin

e was u

it open

dn't

d over time. I stepped carefully, heart too loud in my chest. Every

or wasn't lo

on the f

stale. Just quiet. Like a museu

. An old clock. A single table w

opped m

d been her

d. It smelt of soft perfume and

th tiny silver threads, aged but not torn. Family photos lined the hall, none with

house that had

ting for the right p

stillness told me I wasn

me. Each step felt heavier than the last, like the h

hat one was slightly ajar. Lit from within by soft, natural light

oor open with

of lavender a

speck

single

had kept

e it, ivory handles worn smooth by familiar hands. There was a jewellery box closed. A perfume bo

back of the chair..

efore I eve

photo Halvorsen showed me. The one I'd never seen in real life but

oat ti

de were more dresses, mor

here. Not

life I never

nted someone

mall wooden box sat

: phot

h people I didn't know. Her with a man face turned away. One photo had been r

y chest and sat on

feel like a ghos

ve story someone

until I was halfwa

hed. From the parlou

t be here alo

fr

didn't need. Her hair was a careful white-blonde, her lipstick a vintage red that said she'd be

a sparrow. Her posture belonged to someone wh

ak. "Margot Bellamy. Your mother calle

ust stood by the doorway,

for me," I sa

nerve to come back," Margot cor

pped

knew

Helped train her. Fed her

tay?"

head. "Because she

ect this

rotec

he air out

pulled out a small envelope

to you when you came. A

nded i

n't o

t

uestions,

e after you read t

be careful. Some an

closed in my hand li

and too few beginnings. She leaned back on the parlour chai

he said. "Me. Your mother.

choed. "Th

poison," M

In Berlin, we worked black files. Burnt intel. Bought silence. Y

ne who betraye

mes to Bishop. For immunity. Or pow

ghtened aroun

the t

"Hiding in the open. The only one wh

Why hasn't she

what happens when the wor

and lit one with a match that his

she might give y

if I

what your mother t

t's

led a ribbo

arni

't follow m

dn't n

h the house. Like it had taken a breath, held i

a ghost against time. The photograph box was exactly where I

riting o

rs across the fogged glass l

dy know w

red a

ges. No

but not fa

written it w

who had

rknob just as a sound

Ma

kn

ud one.

pet, the letter still in my hand, the m

ed the

stood

es, sharp and tired and too

wed you,

etend to be

ow",

ast me, int

und som

everythin

ce. Then ask

still tr

n't a

stepped

et hi