They say memory is a strange thing. It can leave you, betray you, wound you… and still somehow find its way home.
The afternoon had been unusually calm.
No meetings. No emergency calls. No surprise school projects. No board members trying to pull Tiania into another last-minute discussion. For the first time in what felt like weeks, the Thamaris estate had fallen into a kind of gentle stillness that almost felt unfamiliar.
The sky outside was pale blue, washed in soft light, and a warm breeze drifted through the open windows of the upstairs hallway.
Henrick stood in the storage room at the far end of the second floor with his sleeves rolled up, one hand on his hip, the other holding a dusty old box.
He had started the task innocently enough.
Just reorganizing.
That was all.
At least that had been the plan.
