The construction in the West Wing had reached a fever pitch, but within the private chambers of the Triumvirate, the atmosphere had shifted into something profoundly quiet and sacred. The "Nice Dreams" were no longer just nighttime visitors or fleeting daytime hallucinations; they had become an anchor. The four of them moved through the manor not as a queen and her generals, but as a family inhabiting a space that was slowly, painfully catching up to their shared memories.
It was during a rainy Tuesday afternoon—the kind of gray, drizzling day that usually made the stone walls of Silver-Crest weep with dampness—that the most vivid "memory" yet took hold.
Nyx was in the new library, a room that had recently been stripped of its dark, heavy mahogany and replaced with light, fragrant cedar.
