The house felt ill at ease. Where it had once been neat and intimidating, now it trembled with a less rowdy but expanding feeling. The guards strode stiffly up and down the corridors, their steps too loud, their glances flicking in directions they never would have before. Servants bowed deeper, spoke less, and darted to scurry behind recesses when Dante was present.
Isla saw it all. She knew a long time before that power was not just strength, but observing things. And what she observed today was a collapsing house on the inside.
Her days were always watched, but she had grown accustomed to hiding what was on her mind. When she walked in the garden, she seemed tranquil, but her eyes scanned the area. When she stopped by the roses, feigning to enjoy them, she nicked her finger on a thorn, watching the blood accumulate on her finger.
