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I’m in love with Bane Wolf.

My smile never fades as I sink deeper beneath the blanket and let sleep carry me the rest of the way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Bane

JUNE 10TH

Sprout charges toward the front door before the knock finishes, his nails scraping across the hardwood and his barking carrying through the penthouse.

I set my coffee on the kitchen island and follow him. “Unless you’ve learned how to operate the security system, your contribution ends here.”

His tail strikes the wall as I open the door and find the hallway empty except for a small brown parcel resting against the frame.

There’s no postage, courier label, or delivery slip, only a handwritten envelope taped across the top.

For Babs and Biddy.

The familiar pressure returns to my chest as I crouch beside the box. I didn’t think the discovery that the flowers weren’t related to the rest of the packages was the end of everything… but I didn’t expect another parcel, either.

Sprout pushes his nose against one corner and sneezes across the cardboard. “You’ve contaminated enough evidence for one morning.”

He leans against my shoulder, pleased with himself. I check both directions down the hallway before carrying the parcel inside.

I place it beside the other two boxes on the dining table. Each delivery has contained an object tied to Celeste and a note written by someone who knows details I never did.

The first parcel brought grief with it, but this one brings expectation because whoever sends them appears to be building toward an answer.

I reach for my pocketknife as Mara enters the kitchen, tightening the sash of her robe around her waist.

Her eyes move from me to the parcel. “Another one?”

“It was outside the door.”

She joins me at the table and examines the envelope. “Did anyone see who left it?”

“I’ll get security to check the cameras again.”

“And the girls?”

“They’re still asleep.”

Mara pulls out the chair beside mine. “Then open it before they come down.”

I cut through the tape and fold back the cardboard. Tissue paper surrounds a small wooden music box with flowers carved into the lid, their edges worn smooth from years of handling.

The melody begins when I lift the lid.

Mara presses one hand to the table, and the nursery returns to me with enough clarity that I can see Celeste in the rocking chair with one baby against each shoulder.

Babs refused to sleep unless Biddy settled first, but Biddy woke whenever her sister cried, leaving Celeste caught between them with this song playing beside her.

A folded note rests beneath the lid, and I open it carefully.

Your mommy said every child deserves a song that reminds them they’re loved.

Mara brushes beneath one eye before taking the music box from me. “She would’ve said exactly that.”