Glass shatters like a gunshot through the bones of the estate.
Not a polite crash. Not a dropped tumbler. This is a window—big, old, expensive—blown inward with intent. The sound punches through stone and timber and history like it’s trying to wake the dead and remind everyone inside that walls are just suggestions if you bring the right tools.
Aris flinches in the bed.
I feel it in my teeth.
I’m already moving.
That’s the thing about being built like I am—there’s no “wait and assess” when the threat is close. My body decides before my brain finishes the first sentence. I cross the room in two strides and plant myself between her and the door, shoulders filling the space like a barricade.
Silas is at the threshold in the same instant, black-clad and silent, head tilted like he’s list
