The next morning, while Roseline was attending to her usual routine, Kathrine barged into her room without knocking.
Roseline was seated at the dressing table, calmly combing her hair, the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains as if nothing in the world was amiss.
"Did you visit Collin yesterday?" Kathrine demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.
Roseline's hand paused mid-stroke. Slowly, she placed the comb aside and rose from the stool, turning to face her daughter.
"What are you talking about, Kathrine?" she asked, her voice smooth, practiced—too practiced.
Kathrine's jaw tightened. Seeing Roseline standing there, composed and unbothered, only confirmed what she already feared. Collin had escaped barely hours after that visit. Anna's instinct hadn't been paranoia after all.
"Don't lie to me, Mom," Kathrine said sharply. "I know you went to see him. And now that man has escaped."
For the first time, she expected panic. Denial. Anger. Anything.
