The circular platform reached the heirs' floor with a low pulse of mana.
The runes beneath their feet faded, and Trafalgar guided Cynthia through the quiet corridor without letting go of her hand. At that hour, the floor reserved for the heirs of the Eight Great Families felt almost empty, all polished stone, muted lamps, and doors that knew better than to make noise.
His room recognized him before he touched the handle. A thin line of blue mana crossed the frame, the lock clicked open, and the door closed behind them with a sound that seemed louder than it should have.
Cynthia stood just inside, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag while she took in the room. The mana lamps adjusted to a softer glow, brushing the dark furniture, the desk, the books, and the large bed near the far wall with a warm light. It was quiet. Far too quiet, considering what she had asked for downstairs.
Trafalgar turned toward her.
"Are you sure about this?"
