Annabelle stared out of the window as the car wound its way back to the estate.

The early morning sun cast a deceptively serene glow over Acadia, painting the city in soft, golden hues.

Her gaze, however, was distant, her thoughts trapped in the grim events of the past twenty-four hours.

Cathy sat beside her, leaning against her arm, still drowsy from the residual effects of the laudanum.

Dante drove in silence, his jaw set, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles stand out starkly against his skin.

When they arrived, Annabelle’s heart tightened.

The estate looked untouched, as if the chaos of yesterday...