The corridor reeked of smoke before we even—before we even got to the east wing. It hit the back of my throat, thick and bitter, like something already dying. Servants scattered like scared birds, skirts tangling, shoes clattering, their arms piled with candlesticks, linens, random bits of furniture—I couldn’t even tell what half of it was. Just grabbing anything that didn’t burn yet.
The fire crackled down the stone hall, sharp, greedy, and sometimes you’d hear this crash like the bones of the house giving way.
“Move!” Gideon barked, shoving past two footmen who looked young enough to still be dreaming about their mothers. His cloak snapped behind him, cutting through the haze like he’d done this a thousand times before.
Wren stayed tight at his side. Jaw locked, eyes forward. She didn
