The sitting room just off the main hall was one of the quieter places in the house, tucked behind heavy doors and swathed in gauzy curtains that caught the afternoon light. Dust motes drifted in slow spirals through the warm glow, casting the space in a strange, peaceful haze that didn’t quite match the mood of the day. The silence wasn’t total—voices still murmured somewhere deeper in the house, footsteps creaked on distant stairs—but the sharp edge of crisis had finally dulled.
Danielle stepped inside reluctantly, her posture tense, shoulders pulled tight despite the inviting curve of the armchairs. Rose gestured toward one, and after a beat of hesitation, Danielle sank into the cushions like someone bracing for a scolding. The fabric was soft, too nice for the way she was feeling. Her
