The mansion was never truly silent, even at 3 a.m. Elena lay awake in the east wing, the doubled guards’ muffled footsteps a constant reminder of her failed escape. The partial vault coordinates burned in her mind like the scar on her wrist. Sleep had become a stranger since the punishment fitful hours interrupted by memories of Dante’s trembling touch and the bruising kiss that followed. Tonight, restlessness won. She needed air, or answers, or simply to move before the walls closed in.
The guards had grown lax in the small hours, one dozing at his post after a long shift. Elena slipped past in bare feet and a dark robe, her hidden phone tucked safely away. She navigated the familiar corridors on instinct, drawn toward the faint light spilling from under the study door. Dante’s domain. T
