We had finally made it home after spending a grueling day and night at the hospital. The smell of antiseptic seemed to have clung to my skin, and the first thing I wanted to do—the only thing I felt capable of doing—was lying down and letting the world disappear. But Finn had other plans. The moment I set foot back in this house, he was there, a small whirlwind of energy and need, demanding the attention I barely had the strength to give.
The house felt strange. It wasn't just the lingering tension from our fight or the discovery in the attic; it was the atmosphere itself. Something felt fundamentally off. Every servant, every guard, even the air around seemed to be tiptoeing around me, as if I were made of glass that might shatter at the slightest vibration. No one looked me directly in
