Racheal had already been dragged away a minute earlier by a silent man—taken to Poppi's private chamber. A place only she knew the details of. A place where screams never escaped.
Inside the room, silence thickened.
"What are we going to do now, Mum?" Penelope asked, pacing in frustration, her fingers clawing through her hair. Anger and panic warred across her face.
"Calm down. Let me think," Poppi said, closing her eyes for a brief moment as if summoning a strategy from the depths of her mind.
But the moment was cut short.
Penelope's phone buzzed sharply on the table. She cursed under her breath, snatched it up—only to freeze. Her face went pale in an instant, as if all the blood had drained from her.
Poppi's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
Penelope swallowed. "It's the Old Madam of the Berlins. She's calling," she said, her voice tight with frustration and fear.
