I opened the door.

And I froze.

On the doorstep, Oslo stood upright, holding between his teeth a piece of bright yellow fabric. My heart pounding, I bent down.
My breath caught.

It was Lina’s sweater.

Or at least, a sweater identical to the one she was wearing the day of the accident. The same vivid color. The same soft knit she loved. My legs trembled. How could this garment have ended up here?

Oslo dropped the sweater at my feet, let out a short bark—almost like a command—then stepped back a few paces. He looked straight into my eyes, picked up the sweater again, and darted off. Every couple of meters, he stopped and turned around, checking that I was following.