Chapter 11
The scratched screw on the ventilation panel was new.
That detail had bothered me from the beginning.
Now I knew why.
Sofia knew too.
“They were moving me tonight.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Marco came yesterday.”
His face changed.
Sofia continued.
“He told me the memorial would be loud. Guards would be concentrated in the west hall.”
I stared at him.
“You planned to move her during her own memorial.”
He looked away.
Helena answered.
“Clara was beginning to notice the airflow.”
My chest tightened.
The candle.
Clara had not discovered something completely new.
She had finally noticed what Helena already feared the child was noticing.
Sofia looked at me.
“Three nights ago, Clara pressed her ear against the portrait.”
I remembered.
She had told me the room sounded funny.
I told her old walls make noises.
Helena was standing beside us.
Now I remembered her face.
Too calm.
Too quick to lead Clara away.
I looked at my sister.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“So tonight was the last chance.”
She said nothing.
Marco did.
“Rusk was coming through the lower passage.”
Anthony Rusk again.
An old loyalist of Helena’s.
Apparently every family has one man willing to turn cruelty into logistics.
“What happened?”
“Clara lit the candle early.”
I almost laughed.
My daughter destroyed a four-year plan because she wanted to light her mother’s memorial candle herself.
The flame went out.
She relit it.
Then heard breathing.
If Clara had arrived ten minutes later—
Sofia would have been gone.
Maybe forever.
I looked at Marco.
“Where is Rusk?”
“He left when the panel opened.”
One of my guards entered at that moment.
“He didn’t get far.”
Good.
I looked at Helena.
She finally looked tired.
Not guilty.
Defeated.
That distinction mattered.
May you like
She did not regret what she had done.
She regretted losing control of when the story ended.
