Her hand trembled as she reached out.
The guards froze.
Claire took the bread, her breathing shallow. She stared at it, then at Noah, then at the horizon.
Ten years of silence collapsed into a single moment.
She opened her mouth. The sound was rough, unused.
Then, clear and cold, her voice cut through the air.
“She’s buried in the wrong place.”
The words echoed.
Ethan had to brace himself against the car. In fifteen years, he had never heard Claire speak.
“What… what did you say?” Viktor whispered.
Claire took a bite of the sandwich and chewed slowly.
“My mother,” she said, her voice steadier now. “She isn’t where they say she is.”
Jonathan arrived minutes later by helicopter, his face pale with fear and hope.
“Claire,” he demanded, kneeling before her. “Tell me what you said.”
“I need Rosa,” Claire replied.
Rosa was brought to the estate, terrified her son had caused trouble.
Claire smiled faintly—the first Jonathan had seen in a decade. “The sandwich was good,” she said. “But I need you to tell my father where you used to take me.”
Rosa admitted she had secretly taken Claire to the old parish cemetery on the lower hill, where Claire always sat beside an unmarked grave.
