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Behind them, a figure sat in a metal chair.

Galina. Watching her.

Disappointed.

Not angry.

That would’ve been easier.

Galina dissolved.

The kennel door swung open with a sharp clang.

The dogs rushed her, scrambling over her boots, whining, pleading.

Warm. Alive.

Needy. So needy.

“I can’t take you,” she said again, backing up. “I don’t have space. I don’t—”

Her heel hit something.

She turned. A door. Closed. Locked.

Ronan stood on the other side of it, watching her through a narrow pane of glass.

Waiting.

She reached for the handle—

The dogs started barking again. Loud. Frenzied.

The sound tore through everything.

Felicity jolted awake, heart hammering, the echo of it still ringing in her ears.

20

Bequests

Not even twenty-four hours after discovering Galina’s death, Felicity stared at the bald, suited man opposite her. “Say that again.”

Because surely she hadn’t heard him correctly.

The attorney adjusted his glasses, unruffled. “You are Galina Harmon’s sole beneficiary.”

The words didn’t land. They just … hovered.

“That’s not possible,” Felicity said flatly. “There has to be a mistake.”

“There isn’t.” He slid a folder across the table, neat, precise. “Ms. Harmon updated her will eighteen months ago.”

Felicity didn’t touch it. “We weren’t family.”

“But you were named,” he said, folding his hands. “Her estate — modest though it is — passes to you. The house, her personal effects, and liquid assets totaling just under forty thousand dollars.”

Felicity let out a short breath. “Why?”