I don't know how much time passes after they leave me in the room.
Minutes. Hours. Time moves strangely here—like it's waiting for me to break first.
The walls are quiet. The air too still. The bed untouched.
Eventually, the silence starts to feel like a hand on my throat.
I stand, walk to the door, half-expecting the handle to resist… but it doesn't.
It turns easily.
The hallway outside is dim, washed in soft gold from wall sconces, shadows drifting like they're alive. Everything smells faintly of wood polish and something sharper, metallic, like old coins.
They want me to believe I can walk freely.
A test.
But staying still feels worse.
I step out.
The corridor stretches into darkness on both sides. My bare feet are soundless on the polished stone. I don't know where I'm going—just away from four walls and a silence that feels like it's listening.
A faint hum echoes from somewhere distant, like machinery buried behind thick walls. Then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Controlled. Trained not to echo.
I freeze.
A figure stands at the far end of the corridor, half-lit by a window's spill of moonlight. Broad shoulders, perfect posture, hands clasped behind his back.
The first heir.
The one with steel in his eyes.
He turns slightly, having known I was here long before I knew he was.
"You shouldn't be roaming," he says.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Good." His gaze holds me. "Sleep dulls your instincts. You'll need them tomorrow."
My breath catches. "For what?"
He doesn't answer that.
Instead, he steps closer—silent, precise—until he's standing a few feet away. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that the air between us tightens.
"Someone could have found you before I did," he says quietly.
"Is that a threat?"
"No." His eyes narrow just a fraction. "It's a warning."
The warmth drains from my fingers.
"What danger?" I ask.
"Depends who's awake." His voice lowers, growing sharper. "This place isn't safe for you at night."
"I thought the East Wing was for guests."
"It is. That doesn't make it safe."
Something in his tone roots into my skin—honest, unsoftened risk.
A chill runs down my spine.
"So what happens if someone else finds me?" I whisper.
His jaw tightens. A shadow crosses his expression, quick and dark.
"I don't want to find out," he says.
The hallway air shifts—pressure bending slightly behind me. His eyes flick past my shoulder.
Everything in him changes.
"Inside," he murmurs.
"What? Why—?"
"Inside." A quiet command, not raised but unmistakable. "Now."
I step back toward my room, pulse pounding. He moves with me, not touching, but close enough that I feel heat brushing at the air between us.
Just as my hand reaches the doorframe—
Another set of footsteps.
Smoother. Unhurried. Soft in a way that makes the hair on my arms lift.
The fifth heir appears at the opposite end of the hallway.
His silhouette cuts through shadow—tall, dark suit, shirt collar open as if he'd pulled it loose himself. His eyes find me instantly.
And the air goes tight.
He doesn't look at the steel-eyed heir first.He looks at me.As though nothing else in the corridor exists.
"You're awake," he says.
Not a question.
My breath stutters.
The steel-eyed heir shifts slightly—placing his body between mine and the fifth heir in a way that looks casual but feels calculated.
"You should be back in your wing," the fifth heir continues.
"You're out of bounds," the steel-eyed one replies, voice hardening.
A long silence stretches between them—silent, territorial, sharp.
Finally, the fifth heir lifts his gaze to the other man's.
"You think I don't hear things?" he asks softly. "She walked into the hallway. You followed. I'm curious. That's all."
"That's not all," the steel-eyed one snaps.
The fifth heir's expression doesn't change, but the hallway cools another degree.
When he speaks again, his voice hits something low in my chest.
"She should be careful," he says. "People get lost in this wing."
"That won't be happening tonight," the steel-eyed heir answers.
They are speaking about me like I'm not here—or maybe like I'm something dangerous enough to discuss only in coded warnings.
The fifth heir's eyes return to mine.
He studies me for a long, unsettling moment.
"You're not going to be able to sleep," he says softly. "Not here. Not tonight. The estate has a way of… unsettling new arrivals."
Something in me crumples for a second—exhaustion, fear, confusion layered into a tight knot. I hate that he sees it.
The steel-eyed heir steps closer to me—barely, a fraction of a step, but enough to feel like a shield dropping into place.
"That's enough," he says.
The fifth heir holds his gaze another beat.
Then he steps back, retreating into the shadows he came from.
The hall exhales when he disappears.
The steel-eyed heir stays still, listening, waiting until the echo of footsteps fades fully.
Only then does he turn to me.
"That," he says quietly, "is why you don't wander."
My heart thuds painfully.
"I wasn't trying to cause trouble," I whisper.
"You're not trouble," he says. His eyes linger on mine—steady, controlled, but with something burning underneath. "You're a signal. People respond to that in different ways."
I don't know what that means. I don't want to ask. I do anyway.
"And you?" I breathe. "How do you respond?"
He hesitates.
The slightest break in composure, sharp enough to cut if I touch it wrong.
"I don't," he says finally. "Not yet."
Yet.
The word lands between us like something heavy and alive.
He steps back, but only enough to close the distance between me and the door with open space instead of his body.
"You need to go inside," he murmurs. "Lock the door even if it doesn't lock."
"I thought you said it wasn't supposed to lock."
"It isn't." His gaze flickers down the hallway. "But pretend it does."
The hallway feels colder now. Thinner. Like the walls absorbed the tension and are waiting for a reason to release it.
I retreat into the room.
He stays in the doorway, a dark silhouette framed by gold light.
"If you hear footsteps tonight," he says quietly, "don't open the door. No matter who calls your name."
My blood chills.
"Will someone—?"
"I hope not," he interrupts. "But this estate listens. And it remembers fear."
Another piece of the world I don't understand.
He touches the door—not pushing, not closing—just resting his hand on it for a heartbeat, like he's making sure it stands between me and whatever's in the hall.
Then he closes it.
Soft. Controlled.
I press my back to the wood and feel the tremor in my legs finally catch up to me.
Silence gathers around me again.
But this time it's different. Heavier. Watched.
Somewhere beyond my door, two heirs walked the same hallway for reasons I don't understand.
One warned me.One watched me. Both unsettled something deep inside my chest.
Tomorrow, they'll expect me to face them like none of this happened.
But tonight, I learned something important:
The door might open easily—but nothing here is ever open by accident.