Moira sat by the window, the soft glow of the morning sun spilling across the room, but there was nothing serene about it. The city outside seemed to be moving at its usual frenetic pace, but she felt as if time had slowed down around her. The letter her father had left—the letter that had cracked everything wide open—sat on the coffee table in front of her. She could barely bring herself to look at it again. But it was there, demanding her attention, demanding to be read again.

“You ...