Leya did not sleep.

Not because she could not.

Because she would not.

Sleep was for the blissfully ignorant who still believed they were safe.

She leaned over her bed desk, reclining in its cozy corner indentation—Samuel's letter, the key, and a full reproduction of the marriage contract spread out before her like war tactics on a battle map.

The house was quiet. But her head was at war.

She then gripped the truth.

But the truth did not rescue people in this family. It ...