The silence in Eleanor's private sitting room felt heavier than granite. Luna had finally fallen asleep after Malphas's visit, but her tiny fingers kept twitching as if she were still reaching for something that wasn't there. Helena sat rigid in her chair, Elena's memories making her hyperaware of every shadow that might conceal an ancient enemy.
Eleanor hadn't spoken since they'd arrived at the Silverstone estate twenty minutes ago. She stood at the tall windows overlooking the gardens, her ninety-three-year-old frame as straight as a general preparing for war. When she finally turned around, her gray eyes held the weight of secrets carried for nearly a century.
"I should have told you sooner." Her voice was steady, but Seraphina caught the tremor underneath. "Should have prepared you both for what was coming. But I hoped—foolishly hoped—that we'd have more time."