Cold evening air twisted sharply in Lucian's lungs as he reached the Valemont gates. The chill felt heavier than it should, like the house itself exhaled frost. Quenya floated behind his collar, invisible, her presence tightening when she sensed the edge in him. He tried to set his shoulders straight, but the dread clung under his ribs.
The iron gates opened without a word.
The butler waited inside the archway. A tall man, pale, with a face carved into courtesy. He did not bow. He only turned and walked. Lucian followed through the long front hall. The servants along the walls held still as statues. No one met his eyes. That part landed harder than he expected.
The butler stopped at a lacquered door, gave a single nod, and stepped aside.
Seris was already seated. Back straight. A book resting on her lap like it belonged there more than he did. Her posture looked carved from a single thought. Her expression told him nothing at all.
