I found them sleeping on a marble bench inside my bank—one exhausted mother and a six-year-old girl hugging a torn rabbit.

judges, and silence for years. Elian stood beside him, handsome and hollow, his hand resting too tightly on Mara’s waist.

When I walked in, Victor lifted his glass.

“Ah, Clara,” he said. “The difficult sister.”

A few guests laughed, because wealthy cowards always know when to laugh on command.

I smiled.

“I prefer observant.”

Elian leaned toward me.

“Try continue reading …