Late one night, when the room was nearly dark and Sam had fallen asleep in the armchair with one small hand resting on her blanket, the door opened quietly, and Adaira recognized the heavy, deliberate footsteps, and then the sweet, suffocating perfume of Cassia, her husband’s assistant.

“What if she wakes up?” Cassia whispered.

Chandler gave a low, dismissive laugh.

“She’s not waking up.

Ellwood says there’s nothing left in there.”

“But she’s still breathing.”