The mansion was quiet. Too quiet. Even the soft hum of the evening wind seemed to hesitate as it brushed past the sprawling windows and manicured hedges. In one corner of the grand hall, Elijah moved like a shadow himself, barely making a sound, each footfall deliberate. The scent of crisp winter clung to him, mingling with the faint vanilla-mint that drifted from Tina's room and the golden honey aroma wafting from Andrew's lingering presence. It made his chest tighten, made his pulse sharp, and reminded him of exactly what he wanted. Tina.
