Chapter
Chapters
Prologue — “That Night in the Fire”
Chapter One – “A Beautiful Scene”
Chapter Two – “Inheritance of Silence”
Chapter Three – “The Girl in the Photograph”
Chapter Four – “An Unquiet Frame”
Chapter Five – “Absence in Frame”
Chapter Six – “The Man in the Gallery”
Chapter Seven – “We Don’t Name the Dead”
Chapter Eight – “Curated Memories”
Uncatalogued Exhibit: Emeline
Chapter Nine – “The Girl in Glass”
Interlude – “What the Evidence Doesn’t Say”
Chapter Ten – “Negative Space”
Memory Fragment – “A Curator’s Confession”
Chapter Eleven – “Playback”
Interlude – “Blueprints of the Unseen”
Archive Fragment – “The Line Between Us”
Chapter Twelve – “File Not Found”
Interlude – “Officially Missing”
Chapter Thirteen – “West Wing, West Memory”
Chapter Fourteen – “He Who Signed in Silence”
Chapter Fifteen – “The Sketchbook of Her”
The Emeline Dossier
Chapter Sixteen – “The Living Gallery”
Westchester Psychiatric Center
Chapter Seventeen – “The Girl Behind the Glass”
Chapter Eighteen – “Alcestis”
Chapter Nineteen – “The Door Edward Never Meant to Open”
Chapter Twenty – “The Suicide That Wasn’t”
Chapter Twenty-One – “The Wall That Doesn’t Exist”
Chapter Twenty-Two – “I Signed the Walls”
Interlude – “The Missing Line”
Emotional Insert – “The Room of Forgotten Things”
Chapter Twenty-Three – “The Girl in the Drawing”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Emeline
Edward’s Voice Recording
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Interlude — Detective Marlowe
Chapter Twenty-Nine
FLASHBACK: The Winter Blackout
Chapter 30 – The Girl in Red
Chapter 31 – The Echo in the Floorboards
Interlude – Entry Without a Name
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Interlude IV — The Forgotten Room
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Interlude — Before the Gallery
Interlude — What I Buried
Interlude — The Things I Remembered Too Late
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter forty-one
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three- memory loop
Chapter Forty-Four
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Interlude — What I Buried
I didn’t tell Vivienne what I’d seen.
Not about the sketchbook.
Not about the crib.
Not about the voice that whispered through the vents.
She had enough to carry.
But I felt her watching me, day after day, in the quiet moments between our scripted smiles and polite conversations. She knew somet...
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