Chapter 18: Anastasia

The morning sun pours through the floor-to-ceiling frosted windows of the Vancouve estate, identical to the light that bathed the dining room just forty-eight hours ago.

I sit at the head of the mahogany table, a cup of Earl Grey tea resting in my hands. Luna is seated beside me in a velvet-cushioned high chair, happily mashing fresh strawberries into a porcelain bowl. Her breathing is flawless. The haunting wheeze that defined the first five years of her life is gone. Now she is just a child who is safe, filled by soft, angelic hum.

My father sits to my right, his posture relaxed, a rare smile...