Helena's fingers trembled as she polished the same silver candlestick for the third time. The familiar weight of it in her hands did nothing to calm her racing heart. Through the kitchen window of Blackwood Manor, she watched Seraphina's sleek Audi disappear around the bend in the winding driveway, swallowed by the ancient oak trees that had stood sentinel over this cursed estate for three centuries.
Twenty-three years of careful protection, and now her girl was walking straight back into the lion's den.
"Foolish child," she whispered to the empty kitchen, but her voice held no anger. Only the deep, bone-weary terror of someone who'd kept a secret too long and watched it grow too powerful to contain.
