Behind me, Thorian stood rooted in place, something unfamiliar creeping into his expression. A dawning realization. A sense of something slipping beyond his control.
His frown deepened as he reached for his phone, dialing one of the household staff.
“Amelia,” he ordered curtly, “bring the most expensive doll you can find to Ashley. Tell her to convince her mother to stop this nonsense.”
I had barely reached the outer gates of the cemetery when a message cut sharply through my earpiece—the caretaker’s voice, strained and urgent.
“Ma’am Morwen, someone is tampering with your daughter’s grave!”
The words hit me like a gunshot to the chest.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Then I turned on my heel and ran—straight through the cold night air, past the rows of silent tombs, everything else fading into nothing. The only thing that mattered was Ashley.
Ashley… she had always been full of light. Bright, warm—like she carried her own sun wherever she went. She loved daisies more than anything, those simple flowers that followed the daylight. I still remembered her telling me once, eyes shining, that she wanted to fill our entire backyard with them someday.
She never got the chance.