“You could have cracked your skull open, Hannah,” he said quietly.

“I had to get up,” I said. My voice sounded thin, like dry paper.

“Why?” he asked, looking up at me.

His hair was messy, and there were dark circles under his green eyes.

“I had to tell you,” I said. “Before they come back. Before they stop me.”

He frowned, leaning closer. “Who is going to stop you?”

“Your mother,” I said.

The name hung in the air between us like a physical weight.

Ethan stiffened, his shoulders squaring slightly.

“My mother is at the estate,” he said. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“She has everything to do with this,” I said.

I swallowed, trying to find some moisture in my throat.

“Five years ago,” I said. “She came to my apartment.”

Ethan did not move. He did not even seem to breathe.

“She sat at my kitchen table,” I continued, staring at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling.

“I remember she wore a gray wool coat. It smelled like expensive perfume.”