The kitchen had long gone quiet.

Dinner had been cleared, the staff dismissed for the night. Only the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the antique wall clock filled the silence. A single lamp lit the dining area, casting golden hues across the counter and the freshly uncorked bottle of Syrah resting between two half-filled glasses.

Sophie curled her feet beneath her on the long, cushioned bench by the kitchen window. She was wrapped in a cream shawl and wore her hair loose, falling over her shoulders like a veil of calm. Across from her, Freya sat with the same easy posture, her dark silk robe...