The rope knew its destiny long before Sarah ever understood who she would become. It lay coiled in the corner of the barn—rough, heavy with the scent of old oil and memory. It had belonged to her father. A hangman. A man without a title, yet never forgotten.In 1856, on a Southern plantation, everything existed for a purpose: the whip to punish, the shackles to confine, and the rope to remind everyone of their place. Sarah grew up in silence, watching her father measure the drop, tie the noose with the terrifying calm of a master craftsman. He never explained. He only worked. And she learned.When fever took him—not the rope—eyes turned to Sarah with quiet calculation. A skilled hangman was valuable property. And the girl… she knew the work. No one asked if she was willing.The first time the rope rested in her hands, it weighed more than anything she had ever carried. On the platform stood a man condemned for defending his wife. Below, the crowd held its breath. Sarah placed the knot precisely behind his left ear, where death would come quickly—the only mercy this system allowed.The trapdoor fell. The sound was sharp. Final.From that moment, Sarah understood something no one had ever taught her: the rope was loyal to no one. It only obeyed those who knew how to use it. And if that was true… then one day, perhaps, it could be tied around very different necks.In the darkness of the barn, Sarah watched the rope settle back into its coil, silent and patient. And for the first time, it wasn’t the only thing waiting…