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I peer at the stone, confused. What does she mean? Nikola? I am nothing like him. But then horror constricts my lungs as I remember how he coldly dismissed any affection for Magdalena the night of her murder.

But he did care for her. I know this now. My heart races as I summon the courage to speak. “I—I found your diary,” I blurt out.

She tilts her head, a hint of confusion straining her features. “What?”

“Your diary. I found it in the bunja—where you hid it years ago.” Her expression remains hard and intense; I can’t tell if she remembers, if there’s anything left of who she once was. “I know your name. You are—were—Magdalena Derokov.”

She stiffens a moment, but then her face smooths, cool and blank. “Magdalena is dead.”

“I know,” I say desperately. “I know what Nikola did to you, out in the workshop.” My voice lowers as I add, “It was terrible and I’m sorry.” The words drop out small and feeble. My heart pounds as I wait for her response, but her eyes only narrow into slits.

“He said the same thing, you know. Nikola. Night after night, I came to him, tormenting him with nightmares. He tried to apologize, told me he didn’t mean for things to end the way they did. But when I asked if he’d confess to his crime, do you know what he said?”

I stay silent, cold sweat trickling down my spine.

“Nothing.”

What hope is there in my apology if Nikola already offered his?

Her dark gaze sweeps over the tombs. “Your family thinks they’re so righteous. Like their home and wealth are sacred relics to be cherished. But I see the rot festering beneath—the lies your family has spun for generations. Nikola even burned down the workshop to hide my blood. And since then, I’ve watched your family follow his lead, refusing to face the truth. Pretending to be so pure, so holy, so good.” She spits the final word out with distaste.

Dread fills me as she prowls closer. Karmela told me the workshop burning was an accident—does she know the truth? That it was really Nikola?

Magdalena goes on, “I was good, once. Truly. I prayed to God, same as everyone else. I followed all the rules. Helped people. But did God help me when I needed Him most? No.

“And so I learned we create our own fate. Pass our own judgment. I made Nikola pay for what he did, and the rest of your family. All the petty villagers too, who spread lies about me, even to this day. And now it is your turn.”

Panic engulfs me as I glance toward Luka’s grave. Think of his warm brown eyes, husky voice as he said, Some people are worth the risk.

No. I can’t lose him. “Please, I mean you no harm. I didn’t even know anything about all this when I came—”

She cuts me off. “Do you think that matters? It is your blood, your inheritance. I’ve watched you in that house, getting close to Karmela, bonding, thinking you belong. If you really want to belong, you must suffer like the ones before you did. If you can’t bear it, then leave. Run away, like your mother did.”

My mind swirls as I consider her words. “What would happen to Luka if I left?”

In answer, her blood-red lips curve into a smile. “You mean, the man you don’t love?”

I remain silent, heart pounding.

“Coward,” she spits. She then pulls something from the folds of her skirt. The metallic arc glints in the moonlight.

A sickle, just like the one Nikola wielded.

“I’ve been thinking about how I want to do it. It is a little more difficult, you see, without him living at the house like the others. But then Karmela had the idea for the gala. It couldn’t be more perfect. I’ll take his life there. It seems fitting, don’t you think? Like a family tradition.”

The meaning of her words pierces me like a shard of ice. No. “I’ll tell him not to come.”

She laughs. “Do you think your family didn’t try to save their lovers too? Tell them to stay away? But even when they knew the danger, they still lingered. I learned the hard way. Love makes us fools.” She moves closer, stopping a foot away. “When Luka dies, I want you to know, it is all your fault.”

“No, Magdalena, please.” I lunge for the sickle, desperate. But as my hand reaches forward, she vanishes—transforming into a small black fly that flits off into the night.

With a jolt, I bolt upright in my bed. Goose bumps crest across my skin as a light breeze trickles into my room. Though the balcony doors are still open, Magdalena is gone.

I clutch the sheets as my mind races through what just happened. Maybe it was only a dream. But I know that reasoning doesn’t work—not anymore. Whatever happened was real. The Magdalena I knew from the diary is gone, replaced by the mora. And she plans to kill Luka at the gala.

How could I be so foolish? I thought by not saying the word love aloud, Luka would be safe. That the necklace would be enough protection. But I was wrong. I should’ve kept my distance, should’ve known indulging in my feelings would only lead to heartbreak.

It is all your fault. Nikola said the same thing to Magdalena, right before he killed her.