Chapter 18. The Unraveling

Morning light spilled through the kitchen window in soft bands, gilding the counters in gold. Dust motes danced in the quiet air as Mira moved with slow, careful precision, setting out mugs and slicing bread with a practiced hand. Her smile was in place—gentle, unobtrusive, the one she always wore when she didn’t want questions—but her head throbbed with every pulse of her heartbeat. Behind her eyes, pain simmered like something alive.

The kettle sang softly. She turned it off before it could shriek.

Martha shuffled in, humming, apron already half-tied and hair pinned loosely atop her head. Her eyes, still sharp despite the years, lingered a beat too long on Mira’s pale face. But she didn’t comment. Instead, she clapped her hands together.

“Tea first,” she declared. “Then I’ll check on the front stock. We have a busy day ahead.”

Mira nodded, forcing a cheerful lilt into her voice. “Of course.”

The bell above the shop door jingled, and a familiar voice d