The sleek black car pulled up to Covington Manor, its tires crunching softly on the gravel driveway. Lyra gazed through the window at the imposing structure that loomed before her. The mansion was a testament to old money and power—exactly the world that had always rejected her.
Percival exited first, then extended his hand to help his grandmother. The old woman stepped out with surprising grace, immediately turning to beckon Lyra.
"Come along, dear. No need to be shy. This is your home now too."
Lyra hesitated before sliding out of the car. Home? The word felt foreign on her tongue. She'd never truly had one.
"I'm just a guest," she reminded Mrs. Covington gently.
The old woman waved dismissively. "Nonsense. You're family."
Percival's face remained impassive as he watched the exchange. He offered his arm to his grandmother but kept a careful distance from Lyra. The security team followed behind, carrying Lyra's meager belongings.
