Evelyn's house never answered its own door, and it did not need to. The gates opened before I reached them, silent and smooth, as though the house itself had already decided I belonged here and saw no reason to pretend otherwise. Inside, everything moved with quiet precision. There were no greetings called across rooms and no footsteps that hurried to meet me. This was a place that anticipated presence rather than reacted to it, a house that knew how to breathe without being reminded.
The butler relieved me of my coat without comment, his movements practiced and unobtrusive. A maid appeared at once, already turning down the corridor as though she had been waiting for the moment I crossed the threshold.
"She's in her room," she said gently, her voice pitched to match the calm of the house
