The house was quieter than it had ever been.
In the days following the battle, the DeLuca estate had become a sanctuary. The clamor of violence, the bloodshed, the fear—it all seemed like a distant memory in this cold, sterile space. What was supposed to feel like peace felt more like a waiting room, each ticking second more pregnant with the promise of inevitable violence.
Elena sat near the large window, the thick velvet curtains drawn back just enough to let a sliver of light cut through the room. The light seemed out of place in the dark space, almost as if the house itself was holding its breath. She had just finished her daily exercises, a strict routine to regain some semblance of strength after her wounds, but the soreness was still there. Each step she took felt like a silent r
