Saturday night. The estate was quiet.
The twins had been asleep for hours. Aunt Estella had retired to her room with a cup of tea and a book she'd been working through for weeks. The house had settled into its bones, the way it did when everyone was where they belonged. Down the hall, Lily was curled around Petal. Leo had the whale against his chest and the Lion in the crook of his elbow, the mended arm visible, the new button eye catching the faint glow of the nightlight.
Franz had been restless for days.
Arianne had noticed. The scripts he'd already memorized, reviewed again. The extra time in the twins' playroom, long after they'd stopped playing. The way he stayed up later than usual and woke earlier, his side of the bed empty before the sun had fully risen. He was dreading something. She knew what it was.
