The night stretched on, an interminable canvas of shadows and chilling whispers in Delia’s mind. Sleep was a distant shore she couldn’t reach, her thoughts a tumultuous sea. Every creak of the old house, every rustle of the wind outside, seemed to carry the echo of Frank’s low, dangerous growl: “Permanently.” She stared at the ceiling, the patterns of the plaster now seeming to twist into menacing faces, reflecting the grotesque distortion of her reality. The man she suddenly felt safe with, her devoted Frank, was a stranger. A protector, yes, but one who wielded a power so stark, so utterly ruthless, it made her blood run cold.
She finally drifted into a fitful, dream-haunted sleep just before dawn, only to wake to the distinct, hushed murmur of Frank’s voice coming from what must be his
