PART 1: Snow poured relentlessly over the quiet residential hills north of the city, coating iron fences and long private driveways until the neighborhood looked frozen in time. From a distance, the estates appeared serene and prosperous, yet behind one set of tall windows, grief sat heavily in every room like air that refused to move.
Philip Arden stood near the fireplace of his expansive home, holding a glass he had forgotten to drink from, his gaze fixed not on the flames but on the small figure by the window. His daughter Lydia sat motionless in her wheelchair, her back straight, her hands resting calmly in her lap as she watched snow erase the garden inch by inch.
