unlined – but from the silence it carried. A silence that

dn't. N

an offering from a memory I no longer trusted. Frank waited downstairs. I hadn't told him abo

oke with a

written in my mother's loop

not done. You were never meant to live the life I lived. Tha

ause of what you carry. You are not the only child of mine, Vi

, you'll know what to do. But you must decide what kind of woman you ar

sten closely to the silence.

twice at something he thinks he alr

as no s

urn ad

sion written in ink that mi

wly and carefully and h

alked do

Frank e

hirt sleeves rolled, his tie loose like h

ed. One look at my fac

ned it,"

gerous words. He read it slowly, his brow furrowing with each line,

rust many peo

ouldn't

w what you're

"You think I'm

d," I said. "Just like eve

tretched between us

id, "I worked

e it

my mother was gone. Bishop paid well

d t

No body. Just... gone. I started pull

eft,"

d. "But people like Bishop don't care

pped

was before I e

es

till let t

e like they were trying

didn't let anyth

oom between us. Too much t

. Tired. Wounded. Pulled by

down at

dn't

and disaster, the house answered

house – sharp, clean, a single pane

om with that quiet urgency I'd only seen once bef

ere," h

now I

the door, then back to

man trained to s

eart racing louder than our fo

chen wa

he knob was shattered. A single drop of bloo

y," Frank said

n wh

They knew the layout. Knew this was the only room with a

r," I said. "They didn't search. No

raighten

to see if I

nked.

fter what you have. Not anymor

ndow. The night beyond

do you kno

or the first time, lo

ake them kil

windows, and locks that h

hall, ears still straining for a

ilhouette in half-light. Something tugged at my atte

rd, scrawle

vor

arp. But d

at it, heart hitching like i

n't va

a sig

to this house not t

", I c

side me i

the name, he

arked,"

low. "Not just m

they're go

he said

letters, written twice now, onc

sn't just

s war

back. "We have

d. "We won't m

into fists. Not

ry an

name they'd write

uld b

en's not the kind of man who runs, but he's

dn't

en silk dress on the bed. My mother's dress. The on

in the doorwa

stay here

m n

n the vanity. Struck one. The flar

via

me under the h

ught

e fire raced upward like it w

ly, "was the lie she wore

rd, cautious, like

ed you,"

d. "One I didn't ask for. But I'm

spread. He moved to grab a pitc

it

, watching the past dis

ettled to embers,

end of her story", I

r the scorche

t chapter be