Gillian stood in the dim light of the hallway, his fingers tracing the cold, uneven stones of the hidden alcove he had just revealed. Nothing but dust and cobwebs met his gaze. He pulled his hand back, his jaw tight. He had hoped for proof, but all he found was emptiness. He turned his attention toward the west wing, his senses heightened, tracking the faint, lingering warmth of movement. He knew Ghea had passed this way, and he suspected she had been seeking counsel with the only person in this manor who despised her existence as much as she feared it.
He moved toward the west wing with a silent, lethal grace. The silence of the manor felt oppressive, a heavy blanket that threatened to suffocate anyone who dared to listen too closely. He reached the heavy oak door of the meditation roo
