The black car glided silently through the night, the trees’ foliage casting dark shadows over the road, as if the sky itself foreshadowed the kind of world they were about to enter—a world where daggers lurked behind the glitter, where every smile was a mask, and every glance could be a declaration of war. Outside the window, rows of trees swept past, until the headlights suddenly illuminated the ornate wrought-iron gate like a spotlight. Slowly, it opened before them, and the car turned onto a long cobblestone drive, lined on both sides with pearl-hued lanterns.
Andromeda sat in the passenger seat, seemingly motionless, but from the corner of his eye Lucian watched her fingers intertwine in her lap, then separate, then lace together again—tiny, almost imperceptible movements, but he knew
