*Milan – Casa Moretti, Morning*
Claire stood still at the entrance of the estate, the glass doors sliding open with a whisper that felt louder than any scream.
Steel beams replaced crumbling marble. Glass walls had replaced heavy velvet drapes. But the air—chilled, perfumed, watchful—remained the same.
Servants lined the corridor, bowing stiffly as she passed.
She didn't return their greetings.
One woman whispered behind a cupped palm, “The dead one returns."
Claire kept walking, heels echoing like defiance against the polished floor.
---
*Formal Dining Room – Moments Later*
Vincenzo waited at the end of the table. A quartet played softly in the background. Risotto steamed on gold-rimmed plates. Silver domes covered the rest.
He stood as she entered. “You look well."
“Spare me,"
