chapter FORTY-TWO
WHITE
Pigeons. Their feathers as white as her fear. Their wings writing it across the evening sky.
Fox pressed her hands against the window. She whispered Jacob’s name, as though her voice could guide him through the Bluebeard’s labyrinth. He had freed her from a trap before, but back then she’d been the prey. Now she was the bait.
She was so happy that Jacob had come.
She wished so badly that he’d never found her.
Behind her, between the empty plates, the carafe was filling with her fear.