"You are not a killer," Rex argued emphatically, meaning each and every syllable. "You were in a carriage that killed something—it is not at all the same thing!"

It wasn't entirely ideal, of course, but even now, he and Flora were essentially children. They had little agency over their own lives at the best of times. Mentally, Rex scanned through his memories of his cousin since the fog, wondering how he had missed this monumental thing that had been tugging at her soul in the time since. How could he have been so oblivious?

Flora might not have been guilty for the death of Mrs. Whitledge, but Abraxas was certainly guilty for not noticing anything was amiss before now.