Morning arrived softly, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace over the estate. Pale sunlight seeped past the floor-length curtains, casting patterns across the hardwood floor, across the sheets, across Justina’s bare shoulder where she rested, quiet and still, wrapped in Carson’s arms.

She had not slept this deeply in years. Not since secrets became walls. Not since fire became scars.

And Carson had not slept at all.

He held her as though she were the only truth left in the world. ...