I couldn’t sleep.
The full moon was three nights away, and the estate felt like it was holding its breath. Every creak of the old house made me flinch. Every shadow looked like Dmitri’s betas slipping through the trees. I slipped out of bed around two a.m., careful not to wake the triplets, and padded downstairs in socks and an oversized sweater.
Mrs. Juliet had arrived that afternoon—unannounced, as always—with a suitcase and a look that said she wasn’t leaving until this was over. She was waiting in the kitchen when I came down, kettle already on, two mugs ready.
“You’re predictable,” she said without turning around. “Sit.”
I sank into the chair across from her. The moonlight slanted through the window, turning her silver hair to steel.
“I’m scared,” I admitted. The words tasted lik
