The peace that had settled over Thorne Manor was a fragile, delicate thing, like the first layer of gold leaf on a restored painting. Elara, with her restorer's instincts, felt a constant, almost imperceptible need to protect it, to ensure it wasn't disturbed. The manor itself seemed to have a new pulse, a quiet, contented hum that ran beneath the surface of everyday life. The paintings in the long corridors, once a gallery of grim and brooding ancestors, now felt less like silent watchers and more like cherished family portraits. Even the air, which had always carried a subtle chill, now held a comfortable warmth.
Alaric, too, was a changed man. The brooding intensity that had once defined him had softened into a quiet, profound contentment. He spent his mornings in the library, not pori
