The envelope was black.
No name. No return address. Just the golden insignia pressed into the wax seal—a mark Elira had only ever seen once, years ago, in the corner of an old photograph buried deep in Blackwood archives. A serpent wrapped around a crown.
She found it on her pillow.
Damian was still asleep beside her, chest rising steadily, fingers curled as if even in dreams he reached for her. Outside, the sky was silver with dawn. Their daughter stirred in the nursery, murmuring softly in her sleep. The house was still. Too still.
Elira didn’t open the envelope immediately.
She held it like it was alive.
She felt its weight long before she saw the words inside.
When she finally broke the seal, her hands didn’t tremble—but her soul did.
My blood runs in your veins, Elira.
You do
