By the time Aira stepped into the house, the sky had already turned indigo, streaked faintly with the last threads of dying light.
The gates closed behind her with a quiet mechanical finality.
Be careful who you stand beside.
Ion’s voice had not been loud when he said it. It hadn’t needed to be. The warning lingered beneath her skin, threaded into her pulse, replaying in the spaces between thought.
The marble foyer greeted her in cool silence. Chandeliers glowed above like suspended constellations. Ancestral portraits lined the corridor — men and women in oil and gilt frames, expressions carved from ambition and permanence.
Legacy watched from every wall.
Aira removed her heels without breaking stride, handing them to a waiting housemaid who bowed softly.
“Dinner has begun, Miss.”
