The Parisian mansion of the White family lay wrapped in winter's stillness.
Snow fell steadily outside, soft flakes drifting down to settle on the iron gates and marble balustrades. Inside, the halls were silent save for the occasional faint creak of old wood contracting in the cold. Candlelight in tall sconces flickered faintly against the pale stone walls, as if even the flames were reluctant to disturb the slumber of the household.
A lone figure emerged from the atrium, her steps soundless on the polished floor. Isabella's face was drawn in the dim light, her eyes shadowed by nights without rest. At the front door, she stopped. Her hand lingered on the brass handle, her knuckles white.
She turned her head back toward the atrium, speaking into the empty air as though the walls themselves might carry her words to the one she meant them for.
"I'm sorry, Emma… my love," she whispered, her breath faint in the cold air drifting through the cracked doorway. "I can't wait any longer. Every time I close my eyes, I see my mother's body. Lifeless. Still. I can't… I can't rest until I have my revenge."
Her voice trembled at the last word.
Without another hesitation, she eased the door open just enough to slip through. Outside, the street was almost deserted, the snow muting every sound. Isabella pulled her cloak tighter, lowered her hood, and vanished into the night with the silent confidence of someone accustomed to moving unseen.
The heavy door closed behind her with a muted thud. The echo travelled through the foyer, then was swallowed by the vast emptiness of the mansion. Once more, the great house sank into silence.
**********
Some hours later.
Eira was dreaming of something soft and indistinct—something about the Beauxbâtons gardens—when the sound of her bedroom door opening pulled her abruptly back to wakefulness.
"My lady—wake up."
The voice was urgent. Familiar.
Eira blinked, groaning softly as she pushed herself upright. "Emma? What is it? Why are you waking me this early?" Her voice was still rough with sleep, and her pale hair was a tousled halo around her face.
Emma was standing at the foot of the bed, her posture stiff, her expression tense. "My lady… Isabella. She's not in her room. I checked everywhere—she's gone."
The words cut through the fog in Eira's mind instantly. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. "What? Where could she have gone?"
"I don't know," Emma said. "I've searched the whole mansion. No trace of her."
Eira's mind worked quickly. "Maybe she went to her mother's grave?"
Emma's lips tightened. "You stay here, my lady. I'll go and check."
Eira's eyes narrowed slightly. "Fine. But be careful. If Maximilian sees you…"
A faint smirk touched Emma's lips, though her eyes were hard. "I can infiltrate the Voclain estate without being noticed."
"Alright," Eira said after a pause. "Go. But come back quickly."
Emma inclined her head and left without another word, moving with a silent swiftness that made the hairs on Eira's neck prickle.
********
Alone, Eira rose from her bed and padded across the thick carpet to the tall windows. She pushed the heavy curtains aside. Outside, snow fell thick and heavy, spiraling slowly under the lanterns lining the courtyard. Beyond the walls, the city lay hushed under the weight of winter, roofs and chimneys blurred into white.
She stood there for a while, gazing out, feeling the cold air seep faintly through the glass.
With a quiet sigh, she retreated to the bath. The marble tiles were cool beneath her bare feet, and the air carried a faint scent of lavender oil. She filled the tub with steaming water and stepped in, letting the warmth seep into her skin, trying to ease the knot tightening in her chest. She hadn't anticipated Isabella's impulsive streak—never had she thought her usually composed aunt would act recklessly, going out without informing Emma. Her mind raced with possibilities: perhaps her aunt had done something reckless, but maybe her guess was wrong. Perhaps Isabella was simply standing at her mother's grave, quietly mourning.
Half an hour later, she emerged wrapped in a thick robe, her hair damp and loose around her shoulders. She dressed in warm winter clothes: a dark wool coat lined with fur, a scarf, gloves. If she was right about where Isabella had gone, tonight would not end peacefully.
She was just adjusting the clasp of her cloak when the sharp crack of Apparition rang out from the courtyard below. Her pulse quickened.
Eira crossed the hall and descended the stairs swiftly, pushing through the doors into the snowy courtyard.
Emma stood there, snowflakes clinging to her blond hair, her cloak damp at the shoulders.
"Well?" Eira asked at once. "Was she there?"
Emma shook her head. "No. I searched the entire Voclain house. Only Maximilian and his lover were present. No one else."
Eira frowned, the gears in her mind turning. "Then she's gone after the Trévér family."
Emma's hand twitched, betraying the smallest flicker of unease. "Then I'll go after her—offer support."
"I'm coming with you," Eira said without hesitation.
Emma's gaze sharpened. "My lady, you can't. It will be dangerous."
Eira's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Dangerous? Did you forget last year, when we stormed Roman and Cecil's place—full of wizards—together?"
"That was different. This house will be heavily guarded."
"So?" Eira stepped closer, her voice low but firm. "Do you think that will scare me? We don't have time for this. Let's go save your lover."
Emma flushed, her composure cracking for just a moment. "My lady—don't say that. She's just… a friend."
"Oh yes," Eira said lightly, a hint of mockery in her tone. "A friend who makes your eyes light up whenever you hear her name. A friend whose hand you can't touch without melting."
Emma's cheeks deepened in color. "Then what about you, my lady? You and Miss Delacour—will you deny that?"
"She's just a friend," Eira said, her tone instantly cooler. "And besides, this isn't the time for that. Now—let's go save your beauty."
Emma rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. "The moment I mention your love life, you try to change the subject…"
Still, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her hand was warm in Eira's despite the cold.
The snow swirled more thickly around them, the sky a low, heavy grey. Somewhere beyond the gates, a car passed by faintly down the street, then faded into silence again.
Eira tightened her grip. "Ready?"
Emma nodded.
And with a sharp crack, they vanished from the courtyard, leaving only the soft whisper of falling snow behind.