Published books

PROLOGUE — THE DAY HE DIED
The man Mara Villanueva hated most in the world was lying dead in front of her.
There was blood on his white shirt.
His eyes were closed.
And his hand still held the silver necklace she had given him three years ago.
Mara fell to her knees.
"No."
She reached for him.
"No, no, no..."
Someone pulled her back.
But she fought them.
"Daniel!"
His name came out of her mouth like a prayer.
The irony almost made her laugh.
Because Daniel Reyes was supposed to be her enemy.
His family had destroyed hers.
His father had taken everything from them.
Her father had spent his entire life warning her:
"Never trust a Reyes."
And she had listened.…

EPILOGUE
The Knock That Remained
They say the house was demolished.
The workers came at sunrise.
By noon, the walls were gone.
By evening, there was nothing left but broken wood, dust, and a foundation half-swallowed by weeds.
No one found the mirrors.
No one found the boxes.
No one found the door.
The men who worked there said they had never seen anything unusual.
They were lying.
One of them remembered hearing knocking beneath the floor.
Three times.
Always three.
But he never told anyone.
He had learned, like the others, that some sounds were safer when ignored.
Years passed.
The story became smaller.
First, it was a warning whispered between relatives.
Then it became something parents told children.…

Don't answer when she calls.
Ana stood beneath the sea.
She looked up at the sunlight trembling far above her.
Then she heard someone call her name.
"Ana."
She turned. Her mother was waiting.
Smiling.
Her arms were open.
And for the first time, Ana could no longer remember whether her mother had ever
been alive.
She stepped toward her.
The ocean closed over her head.
The bells began ringing.
And on the island of San Isidro, the sun disappeared for thirteen minutes.
No one knew why.
No one remembered the girl who had caused it.
No one remembered the brother who had come looking for her.
No one remembered the family whose names had been carved into the church wall.
But every night at 2:17, the bells still rang.…

For seventy-three years, the Vales had stayed away from Blackwater. They never
spoke about the night Elian's grandfather died there. Whenever Elian asked, his
mother said only:
"Some houses remember what people do inside them."
Then she died, leaving him the key.
At the funeral, an envelope appeared among her belongings.
Inside was a photograph of Blackwater House.
On the back, in his mother's handwriting, were seven words:
DO NOT LET A GIRL IN THE MIRROR KNOW YOU.