The storm had not relented since midnight. Rain battered the estate’s windows in a relentless rhythm, each drop striking the glass with an urgency that mirrored the tension simmering inside the Hawthorne home. Wind tore through the skeletal trees on the grounds, their branches rattling like brittle bones in the night. The air smelled faintly of wet earth and the faint metallic tang of lightning waiting to split the sky again.
Scarlett stood at the far end of the main corridor, arms folded, her reflection fractured in the tall windowpanes. The estate, though fortified, felt more like a fortress tonight than a home. Every shadow looked longer, every sound seemed amplified. The security detail was doubled, men patrolling the halls in crisp, quiet rotations. The weight of it pressed against h
