She stepped away from the window, leaving behind the afternoon light and the carriage that had already vanished. Demian remained where he was, watching her back, an unfamiliar unease slowly creeping into his chest.
For the first time, he realized something that unsettled him deeply:
Valerie was not looking for protection. She was preparing a way out.
The daylight felt too bright for Valerie.
Her steps came to a halt before the pink door a color that should have been soft, yet here it looked like a warning. The paint peeled in places, the wood was old, and the handle felt cold beneath her fingers, as if it held the breath of all those who had come with hope and left with decisions that could never be undone.
Valerie knocked softly.
The door opened without a sound.
An old woman stood before her, back bent, white hair hanging loose and unkempt, her face etched with deep wrinkles. Her eyes were small, yet sharp far too sharp for an ordinary elderly woman.
