The knock came just before dawn.
Three slow strikes against the front door.
Heavy. Measured. Not a request. Not a question. The kind of knock that carried weight—like it had come down through time itself. Like it had never once gone unanswered.
Vivienne was already halfway down the stairs when it landed.
Her bare feet whispered against the polished wood, her pulse low and restless in her throat. Rafe hadn’t summoned her. He hadn’t spoken a word. But the moment the knock sounded, something inside her blood had stirred—sharp and cold, like a wire pulled tight. A warning. A tether gone taut.
She descended in silence, the long shadows of the manor stretching toward her like curious hands.
Rafe stood at the threshold, his back to her, body tense in a way she hadn’t seen before. Still, but
