The morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, painting the room in pale gray. Lynn sat at the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes unfocused on the rain streaking down the window. The soft ticking of the clock on the wall felt louder than usual.
She hadn't slept properly in days.
Alex had been gone before sunrise again, no note, no message, not even the usual brief goodbye. Just the faint trace of his cologne and the sound of the door closing softly behind him. It had been like this since Victor's escape.
The silence. The secrets. The tension that filled every corner of the house.
She'd tried not to let it eat at her. But she couldn't stop herself from thinking.
Something was wrong.
And she knew exactly who was behind it.
Clara. Victor. The two names that had been haunting her like ghosts she couldn't exorcise.
