Valentina

The afternoon sunlight streams through the windows of my childhood home, casting warm pools of light on the cozy living room where I sit with my mother. Despite the familiar surroundings and the comforting presence of my mother, I can not shake the feeling of unease that grips me in the aftermath of the cryptic call from Mr. Russell.

While we sit together, sipping tea and exchanging stories, I try to push aside the gnawing sense of dread that lingers at the edges of my consciousness. I regal my mother with tales of my recent vacation in Santorini—the sun-drenched beaches, the charming villages perched on cliffsides, the mouthwatering cuisine that tantalized the taste buds.

My mother sits listening with rapt attention, her eyes sparkling with interest as I paint a vivid picture of the idyllic island paradise. She has always been my confidante, my rock in times of trouble, and I cherish the opportunity to share my adventures with her.

"It sounds absolutely divine, darling," she says, he