The sky outside shifted into deeper shades of blue as night settled over the house. Marga kept sketching near the window, her small legs folded neatly beneath her, her pencil moving with slow, careful strokes. Every now and then she paused, lifting her head to look at the fading light as if searching for something only she could see.

Elijah lingered beside me, arms crossed loosely, not tense anymore but watchful. “She’s calmer,” he murmured, his voice quiet enough not to reach her ...