I rub my cheeks and walk to the door. When I open it, I’m surprised to see no one there.

Then I spot the stainless-steel dome at my feet. It’s a cloche, one of those things that hotels use to cover food.

I can’t imagine Lucas would have gone ahead and ordered a meal. Not here. The prices at this place are insane. Even a simple salad costs a fortune.

It was probably just delivered to the wrong room.

For a moment, I consider ignoring it and shutting the door, but my rumbling stomach stops me.

A bite to eat—that’s probably not a bad idea. I barely had anything for breakfast, and lunch was just a slice of toast.

So what’s under the dome? I’m hoping for a burger and fries.

Just the thought of it makes my mouth water.

I lift the cloche, but there’s no food under it. Just an envelope grinning up at me from the plate.

A gold envelope.

Like the one in my pocket.

With my name on it.

Blood buzzes through my head like a swarm of bees.

Is it a coincidence?

I look left and right down the hallway, but there’s no one around.

I stoop and take the envelope from the plate. My fingers shaking, I tear it open.

There’s a newspaper clipping inside, with today’s date on it.

Suddenly the sky turned black,

and we sailed in stormy weather.

Our sun went out, but her glorious light

will warm our hearts forever.

Isolde Lieve Veerman

Daughter of Tom and Jeannette

Sister of Marius

I stare at the date of her death in the newspaper.

She’s been gone a few days now.

It’s real.

I pull the plate and silver dome into the room and close the door behind me. My heart pounds as I read the words over and over again.

I stare at the names of her family.

Tom, Jeannette, and Marius.

I spent so much time at their place that they felt a bit like my own family.

In the mornings, I was often alone with her dad. Tom was the only early bird in the family, until I started sleeping over on the weekends.

He liked me.

And now his daughter is dead.

Because of me.

I reach for the letter in my inside pocket. Her family must never read these words.

They’d kill us.

But wait a second…

I didn’t receive the letter until yesterday.

By which time she had already been dead a few days.

So when did she send the letter?

But then I see the small letters on the back of the newspaper clipping. They’re written in blue ink, in overly neat handwriting.

Now she really is dead.

But you guys killed her already,

364 days ago.

Too bad I had to run away so quickly.

I’d have loved to see your reaction.

Linnea