My breathing slows, but my heart picks up pace. “Jeez, what an ugly bookshelf,” Tayce mutters, following my gaze. Rory comes up beside me. “Are they the For Dummies books? Looks like the whole collection? I can’t imagine Rafe reading those.” “He doesn’t,” I whisper, my throat going thick. “Well, who does then?” I swallow. “Me.” In the silence, the wind roars. The grandfather clock ticks on the mantelpiece. My eyes trail the splintered wood, the hammer on the desk, and the Swedish instructions torn into two and dumped next to the trash can. Wren sighs and clutches her chest. “See, I told you he
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