Adrian's mansion breathed a kind of silence that did not belong to peace.
It was the silence of a house holding its breath—
a silence carefully shaped, like glass forged under pressure,
fragile and sharp.
It was the kind of quiet that happened only when the head of the house did not want noise, only decorum… only obedience.
A heavy stillness. A controlled stillness.
The kind of stillness that wrapped around the walls like a warning.
Raya woke into that silence.
She opened her eyes to a ceiling far too high, a bed far too soft, and a room far too cold. Something restless pressed against her ribs—anxiety, anger, sadness, frustration, all tangled until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
