The corridor twisted and turned, narrowing as Hale followed Colette deeper into the mansion’s unseen depths. The air was thick with the scent of old books and aged wood, the flickering wall sconces casting long, shifting shadows along the stone walls. The deeper they went, the further they moved from the grandeur of the ballroom above, from the scrutinizing eyes of nobility and spies alike.
Colette walked ahead of him with an effortless confidence, the train of her dress trailing behind her, whispering over the floor. Every movement she made was precise, deliberate. She was leading him somewhere, and Hale had the distinct impression that she was in complete control.
Finally, she stopped before a heavy wooden door, her gloved fingers tracing the intricate carvings along its surface. With
