The summer heat pressed against the stone walls of the hall like a living thing, relentless and suffocating.
Outside, the meadow shimmered beneath an unforgiving sun, the grass bleached almost white by weeks of unbroken brightness. The temperature inside the house had climbed steadily throughout the day, resisting the thick walls and heavy curtains that had been drawn in a futile attempt to maintain some semblance of coolness.
The air hung thick and still, carrying with it the weight of unspoken fears and the tension that had gripped the farmhouse since they came back from the pavilion.
Jaegar sat in the center of the hall, his posture hunched forward, his dark eyes fixed on the worn wooden floorboards beneath his feet. His fingers traced invisible patterns on his knees—old nervous habits that emerged whenever his mind was in turmoil.
