The kitchen smelled of onions and oil.

It was a smell Serena had come to know too well—sharp, lingering, clinging to her skin long after the fire was turned off. Her hands moved mechanically over the cutting board, slicing vegetables with practiced precision, even as her mind drifted far away from the present.

The knife paused mid-air.

Without warning, Eve’s voice echoed in her head.

“Thank you… for taking my life.”

Serena’s fingers tightened around the handle. She had heard ...