Chapter 4 — Fragments of the Past

Emma

The attic was colder than she remembered, the kind of cold that didn’t just touch the skin but sank into the marrow. Dust motes swirled lazily in the narrow beam of light spilling from the bare bulb above, its faint flicker casting long, restless shadows against the wooden beams. Emma perched on the edge of an old chest, her knees drawn close to her chest. James’s journal lay open in her lap, the pages trembling slightly in her unsteady hands.