West Estate
The car slowed before it stopped. Bobae tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase as the driver stepped out, opened her door, and gestured wordlessly toward the gate. She nodded, murmured a quiet thank-you, and stepped onto the gravel. The sound of the car pulling away came too fast. She stood there for a moment, watching the dust settle, feeling strangely abandoned—like luggage delivered to the wrong address but never reclaimed. The west estate was older. Not grand in the way the main house was, but sprawling and tired. The buildings leaned into one another like they'd learned to survive by sharing weight. Windows were smaller. Walls less polished. Everything looked… functional. Necessary. A woman in a plain uniform approached her, clipboard in hand. Her expression was neutra
- Writer
