Merritt Vale is good with damaged things.
When she accepts a week alone at a remote Highland house, the arrangement feels almost merciful: quiet, order, a place that seems to ask very little. Instead she finds a house that anticipates her, flatters her, and begins to feel less like shelter than recognition.
Small wrongnesses gather. A message appears before it should. The road out refuses to stay simple. In a hidden archive, Merritt discovers that other women have stood where she is standing now.
To remain would be dangerous. To leave may be worse.
