XXVII
The first pale threads of morning light filtered delicately through the thin, faded curtains, casting faint stripes across the modest apartment. It wasn’t the harsh, glaring light she had grown used to in Darius’s world, nor the cold, sterile illumination of her uncle’s estate. This light felt softer, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether it belonged in this space—a fragile kind of dawn Sasha had yet to get accustomed to. The silence stretched around her, profound and undisturbed. There were no murmured voices behind closed doors, plotting and scheming under the guise of civility. No sharp-edged commands disguised as gentle requests. No subtle threats lurking between lines of conversation. Just silence. A silence that, by all accounts, should have felt like peace. Instead, it pressed d
- Writer
