Averie didn't sleep.

She stayed up piecing together everything she could remember - every half-conversation, every whispered family rumor, every glance her mother used to shoot across dinner when someone mentioned "the Marrows."

By sunrise, her list had three columns:

? People who knew her grandmother.

? Places her grandmother used to visit.

? People her father avoided.

At the top of that last list was one name: Hazel Knox.

Her grandmother's best friend, once described as "too loud," "too loyal," and "too nosy for her own good." Her father had written Hazel off for years - called her "unstable" in public and "dangerous" in private.

Which, Averie figured, meant she was exactly who she needed to find.

Hazel lived in a small house outside town, tucked behind a greenhouse filled with sunflowers and wild mint. It looked nothing like the Langford estate. It smelled like stories.

When Hazel opened the door, her expression went from suspicion to stunned silence.

"Well I'll be damned," Hazel said. "You've got her eyes."

Averie blinked. "You knew her. My grandmother."

Hazel didn't nod. She just opened the door wider.

"Come in," she said. "Before the ghosts start whispering louder than we do."

The house was warm. Worn. Real.

Old pictures lined the walls - many of them black and white, faces that looked like ghosts made of memory and grief.

"I know why you're here," Hazel said, motioning for Averie to sit. "Took you longer than

I hoped."

"I didn't know there was anything to come for," Averie replied.

Hazel gave a bitter smile. "That's how your father wanted it."

Averie leaned forward. "Did she love him? Wes's grandfather?"

Hazel nodded slowly. "More than she loved breathing."

"Then why?" Averie asked curiously

"Because she wasn't allowed to love him," Hazel said, her voice sharp. "She was married off to someone richer. Safer. Political. And when the truth started leaking? your grandfather covered it the Langford way."

Averie's throat tightened. "Made her look unstable."

Hazel pulled open an old drawer and slid out a yellowed envelope.

"Not made her look. Declared her unfit. Institutionalized her. Quiet place up north. She was there until the day she died."

Averie's chest caved inward. "He locked her away."

Hazel pushed the envelope closer.

"She wrote letters. All of them were intercepted. But one made it to me. And she

wanted you to have it. If you ever came looking."

Averie picked it up with trembling fingers.

The envelope was sealed with wax, the kind no one used anymore.

Her grandmother's initials pressed into the red: E.L.

Averie's voice cracked. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Hazel's expression softened. "Because your father's legacy is built on lies. But you? you've got the fire to burn them down."

Before Averie could respond, Hazel leaned forward and said, "And I'm not the only one who thinks so."

Averie looked up. "What do you mean?"

Hazel reached into her phone and pulled up a message.

An unknown number.

A short text.

She's awake now. Make sure she finds what they buried. - W

Averie's breath caught.

"He's watching," Hazel said. "And I think he left you more than just that letter."