The sun hung pale in the sky, a delicate coin slipping toward the horizon, reluctant to abandon its post. Its light had softened—no longer authoritative, no longer sharp. Evening claimed the world by degrees.
"Miss, we have arrived," Boma said as the carriage slowed to a careful stop.
I stepped down first, boots crunching against gravel. Before us stood a manor I did not recognize—elegant without ostentation, its stone washed in amber light. Tall windows reflected the sinking sun like watchful eyes. The grounds were manicured with deliberate restraint, foreign in taste.
When did they move here?
Weren't they meant to be staying at a hotel?
Victoria stepped down beside me, eyes widening.
"Wow… I didn't know a place like this existed here."
Neither did I.
We followed Boma along the gravel path. The air smelled of earth and flowers—cool, clean in a way the town no longer quite managed.
"Nice flowers," Victoria murmured, slowing. She pointed to a low hedge lining the path, blossoms glowing yellow-orange even in the dimming light.
Gazania, I thought. Hardy flowers. Thriving in poor soil. Unapologetic.
The door ahead clicked open.
A tall woman stood framed by lamplight. Her maid's uniform was immaculate, her posture straight as drawn steel. There was something about her—alert, composed—that felt misplaced in domestic service. She looked more suited to a battlefield than a hallway.
"Good evening, Miss Heiwa," she said smoothly, stepping aside. "Welcome."
"Good evening," I replied, inclining my head.
"I will wait here," Boma said, stopping at the threshold.
Miss Elise led us inside without pause. The manor's interior was warm and refined—muted walls, polished floors, the faint scent of oil lamps and unfamiliar spices.
"You arrived at quite the time," she remarked as we walked.
Her tone was polite, unreadable. I nodded, offering nothing in return. Victoria absorbed everything silently, eyes bright.
Miss Elise stopped before heavy wooden doors and knocked once—firm, respectful.
"Lord Albrecht," she announced. "Miss Heiwa has arrived."
"Please, come in," a calm voice answered.
The dining room glowed beneath a gas lamp. Lord Albrecht von Morgenstahl sat at the table, silverware aligned, posture relaxed yet deliberate. His hair caught the lamplight as he looked up.
I bowed.
"My apologies for the delay. My brother is away, so I will stand in his place."
He set his cutlery down with measured care.
"That is quite all right," he said, his accent precise, foreign but refined. "Time is unkind to all of us these days."
He gestured to the table.
"Please. It would honor me if you would share my dinner."
Miss Elise moved seamlessly, laying out dishes unfamiliar in scent and color. Victoria hesitated only briefly before smiling.
"Thank you for the meal," she said, accepting the cutlery with practiced grace.
I followed, awkward with the fork and knife at first, then settling into the rhythm. The room felt enclosed in red and amber, shadows stretched soft and deliberate.
Conversation flowed easily—carefully.
"I hope we can work together toward our mutual interests," Lord Albrecht said, cordial, weighted.
"I believe that would be ideal," I replied.
Throughout it all, Miss Elise stood watchful at the edge of the room. Victoria prodded her food thoughtfully, eyes occasionally drifting as though memorizing the space.
When dinner ended, we were escorted outside. Night had claimed the sky fully now, the moon washing the grounds in silver-blue.
"You have a beautiful city," Lord Albrecht said near the carriage. "I would like to see more of it."
"It would be my honor to guide you," I replied, bowing lightly.
As the carriage pulled away, the manor receded into darkness, its lamps lingering like distant stars.
The night filled with sound—the wheels, the wind, the low hum of a town learning how to live again.