The afternoon light in the mansion had taken on that particular Pacific Northwest quality—muted, silvery, filtered through endless sheets of rain that blurred the forest beyond the windows into a watercolor smear of deep greens and grays. Elena paced the length of her bedroom, bare feet silent on the thick carpet, her phone clutched in one hand like a lifeline. The calendar app was still open, the dates mocking her with their blank regularity. Three days late now. Three days of her body refusing to follow the script it had kept for years. Every small twinge in her lower belly, every wave of nausea that might have been nothing more...