I stepped into Fen’s estate as twilight draped Kaelora in soft violet and gold. The air smelled faintly of smoldering herbs and polished wood—a sharp, grounding contrast to the festival’s heady mix of music, laughter, and magic that still lingered in my mind. I paused at the threshold, expecting some kind of activity, the usual hum of life here—but the interior was almost unnervingly still.
Fen lounged in front of the hearth, one leg draped over the arm of a chair, a small crystal cup of amber liquid balanced in his hand. The firelight danced across his sharp features, catching the angles of his face, glinting in his eyes as he sipped, unbothered by my entrance.
“You didn’t go,” I said, voice edged with surprise, stepping fully into the room.
Fen raised an eyebrow, lazy but calculating.
