The knock on my door came at half past midnight.
I was still awake. Sleep had become a stranger lately, visiting in fragments and leaving before dawn. The Sterling Estate was quiet at this hour, the staff retired to their quarters, the hallways dim and still. I had been reading in bed, or trying to, the same paragraph repeating itself until the words lost all meaning.
Then the knock. Soft. Almost hesitant.
I pulled on a robe and crossed the room. When I opened the door, I stopped breathing.
Marcus stood in the doorway, and he was covered in blood.
His shirt was torn at the collar. His knuckles were split open, raw and swollen and still seeping red. A bruise was blooming along his jaw, dark purple against his skin, and there was dried blood crusted beneath his nose and smeared across h
