SOFIA
Something shifted before anyone said a single word.
It started with the noise, not a rise in volume, but a change in the frequency. The house had always hummed with a mechanical, predictable rhythm, but this morning, that pulse was jagged. Footsteps in the hallway moved with a clipped, frantic speed that bypassed the usual grace of the staff. Doors didn't just close; they were shut with a finality that echoed through the marble corridors. Even the air felt pressurized, as if the mansion itself were bracing for an impact I couldn't see.
The house didn't lose its composure, but it tightened. It was the difference between a resting muscle and one coiled to strike.
I noticed the peak of the tension before breakfast. Clara arrived ten minutes early, a rarity in a world where time was
