The nursery was silent, save for the rhythmic, innocent breathing of my son and the heavy, suffocating weight of Arthur’s gaze. The tablet in the butler’s hand glowed with a sickly light, a terminal diagnosis for any hope I had left of a normal life. Silas hadn't just been sleeping upstairs; he’d been waiting. He’d been sitting in the dark, watching the digital breadcrumbs I’d been leaving, waiting for me to fail the test he hadn't even told me I was taking.
“He’s in the library, Elena,” Arthur said. His voice was stripped of its usual warmth, the kind he used when he’d bring me tea or help Toby with his blocks. Now, he was just another soldier in the Thorne army. “He suggested you don’t keep him waiting. The clock for your brother isn’t the only thing ticking tonight.”
I walked down the
