the three red marks, the colour disappeared from his face.
“Secure the house,” he ordered.
One officer looked confused.
“Sir?”
“Do it now.”
I gripped the back of a chair.
“You recognise them.”
Kellan looked directly at me.
“Twenty-two years ago, three women vanished. Before each disappearance, the victim received exactly one hundred yellow roses.”
“And the red marks?”
“Three marked flowers every time.”
My stomach turned.
Kellan explained that my father believed the number represented completion—a final cycle, a final goodbye.
The flowers were not a gift.
They were
