The morning came like a slow exhale, light creeping through the sheer drapes, golden and lazy.
Lina stirred, still unsure if her sleep had truly been restful. The villa was quiet—the kind of quiet that wrapped around you and made you question if anyone else even existed.
She rubbed her face, shook off the haze, and grabbed her phone. Predictably, still no service. Right. She was in Greece.
No roaming plan, no SIM. And still no way to contact her grandparents.
She pulled on a loose knit sweater, combed her fingers through her hair, and made her way down to the kitchen, where the butler greeted her with a warm nod and offered her breakfast. She declined politely.
"Actually," she said, clearing her throat, "could I ask for the Wi-Fi password?"
There was a moment—only a heartbeat—of silence. But in it, she imagined a thousand possibilities.
What if Fredrich had withheld it intentionally? What if this entire estate was meant to isolate her, to trap her?
