The heavy oak door of Gillian’s private office slammed shut, the sound echoing like a final judgment through the quiet corridor. Ghea stood in the center of the room, the scent of aged leather and stale tobacco clinging to the air. Gillian did not sit behind his desk. He paced the floor with the calculated, predatory grace of a caged animal, his eyes never leaving her face. The aftermath of the incident in the chamber of cursed artifacts still lingered between them, a tangible weight that made every breath a conscious effort.
"You have a death wish, Ghea," Gillian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He stopped pacing and leaned over his desk, his shadow stretching across the floor to touch her feet. "You were told explicitly to keep to your quarters. You were warned that this house does
