Chapter 50: The Rot in Bennington Hall
Months had passed since William had stood in that smoky cultist cove and watched his sister vanish on a dragon's back.
Months of chasing empty trails, of lying to the crown, of carrying a truth too heavy to speak.
And all the while, Bennington Hall rotted from the inside out.
The great dining hall smelled of cold roast beef and bitter silence.
Lord Richard Bennington sat at the head of the table, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the empty chair that had once been Hannah's — not that anyone had dared set a plate there for years.
The fire in the hearth crackled, but it did nothing to chase off the chill that had settled over the manor since the day his youngest daughter had walked out.
Stephanie sat to his right, her face painted into a sharp, cold smile, her eyes darting between Richard and William like a cat cornered by dogs.
Layla picked at her food, her pretty face pinched, no longer bold enough to preen or giggle.
