Isadora placed the book back on the shelf and stood. Sitting still was making her restless, and the faint, watchful presence of the staff was becoming too distracting to ignore.
She stepped out of the library and decided to walk further through the villa. The corridors branched in several directions, some leading to closed doors, others to open sitting rooms and galleries. Now and then, she caught glimpses of portraits—men and women with proud expressions, all wearing the family crest somewhere on their attire.
Turning down a quieter hallway, she noticed the air was cooler here. The windows were taller, the curtains drawn only halfway to let in strips of light. She slowed her pace, listening. No footsteps. No murmured conversations. Just the faint hum of the breeze outside.
