POV: Miranda Prospero

The cottage looked smaller than I remembered.

I stood at the edge of the forest clearing, Ferdinand's hand warm in mine, and stared at the place that had been my entire world for seventeen years. The ivy-covered walls. The crooked chimney. The garden Papa had taught me to tend.

Home. Prison. Both at once.

"You don't have to go back in." Ferdinand squeezed my fingers gently. "We can turn around."

"No." I stepped forward, pulling him with me. "I need to do this."

Three ...