The figure didn't move.
Neither did Christa
The balcony doors were locked — she remembered turning the key herself.
Yet the boy stood outside as if gravity meant nothing.
Silver hair stirred in the wind. Dark coat.
Stillness that didn't feel human.
Christa forced her voice to stay steady.
"Who are you?"
He tilted his head slightly, studying her.
Not like a stranger.
Like a hypothesis.
The boy smiled faintly.
Then he spoke — though she couldn't hear him through the window.
But she could read his lips.
"You're not Elira."
Her blood ran cold.
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
Cold fear spread through her chest.
How could he know?
Who was he?
Before she could react, he stepped backward —
and fell off the balcony.
No scream.
No impact.
Christa rushed forward and unlocked the door, stepping outside.
The stone floor was empty.
Nothing below the balcony.
Except for one thing.
A black feather.
Warm.
As if it had just fallen from a living wing.
Christa stared at it.
Her instincts screamed one thing.
This person was not part of the original novel.
Behind her, the mansion door creaked open
A servant's voice echoed down the hallway.
"Lady Elira… the Duke is requesting your presence."
Christa closed her hand around the feather.
The story was changing.
And someone else already knew.
[End of the chapter 3]