That was the beginning.

The parents—distant, wealthy, always traveling—left notes on the counter. Handle any “episodes.” Call no one. Eve burned each note in the kitchen sink. She told Avery: “You’re not an episode. You’re a person.”

“Mine.”

Eve Sweet arrived at the cliffside manor on a Tuesday, her single suitcase thumping against her leg. She had expected fussy toddlers or sullen teens. Instead, she found Avery Cristy.