THE GIRL IN THE YELLOW DRESS WHO NEVER BAKED BREAD IN THAT KITCHEN

The low, rumbling exhaust of a vintage sports car vibrated through the ground as it pulled up directly behind the sedan, blocking their only exit from the cliffside overlook. The driver’s door opened with a sharp click, and the sophisticated blonde artist stepped out into the wind, her deep red velvet dress snapping around her legs like a flag of warning. She wasn't wearing her gallery heels anymore; instead, she wore heavy leather riding boots that crunched purposefully against the gravel.

Julian didn't flinch, but his hand slid slowly toward his jacket pocket, his eyes narrowing as the artist approached them with long, measured strides.

“You’re late, Catherine,” Julian called out over the roar of the ocean waves. “I thought the police would have kept you longer at the gallery.”

Catherine stopped a few feet away, her green eyes passing over Julian before locking onto Clara, who sat frozen in the passenger seat with the green ledger still open on her lap. Catherine’s face softened into a melancholic expression that carried the heavy weight of a dozen years of grief.

“The police are chasing a decoy, Julian, just like they always do,” Catherine said, her voice smooth and resonant in the cold air. She reached into her velvet coat and pulled out a small, tarnished silver key that matched the locket hidden inside the gallery painting. “Is she ready to know the truth about the fire?”

Clara slowly slid out of the car, her little yellow boots touching the cold gravel. She looked from Julian to Catherine, realizing with a chilling clarity that she was the center of a decades-long war between two people who claimed to know her past.

“You painted the nursery,” Clara said, her voice barely louder than the wind. “You were there when the door was locked.”

“I was the one who painted the walls of that room before you were even born, Clara,” Catherine said softly, taking a slow step forward and holding out the silver key. “And I’m the one who hid the real family registry inside the frame so Eleanor could never erase us.”