The estate had returned to silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The guarded kind.
Wind pressed softly against the tall windows, whispering along the stone as though testing its endurance. The corridors lay dim, the lamps lowered to amber pools that softened edges but revealed nothing of what lingered beyond them.
Elara could not sleep.
Again.
She wrapped her arms around herself and moved quietly through the west corridor, drawn by the faint glow beneath the study door.
Of course.
He was awake.
Always awake.
She paused outside, hand hovering near the wood.
A low voice sounded within — not speaking to anyone, not issuing orders.
Just breathing.
She knocked lightly.
"Come in."
She entered to find Alessandro de Luca standing by the window, his silhouette cut in dark relief against the pale wash of exterior lights. One hand rested against the glass, fingers spread as if feeling vibrations beyond human hearing.
He did not turn.
"You should be resting," he said.
