The sky was still a faint gray when Amelia stood before the tall glass doors of her grandfather's study. The Blake mansion was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that even the maids hadn't yet disturbed. The air smelled faintly of rain, the kind that had fallen softly through the night and left the world damp, cool, and hushed.
She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering just above the door handle. It wasn't like her to second-guess herself, but this was different. This wasn't a spontaneous decision made out of impulse or frustration. She'd spent nights turning it over in her head, watching dawns break from her bedroom window, wondering if she was truly ready for what came with carrying the Blake name in more than title.
With a steady breath, she pushed the door open.
The faint scent of cedar and old paper filled the air, the smell of years spent ruling from that very room.
