The mansion learned how to breathe again.
It happened quietly—no announcement, no ceremony—just a slow easing of tension in the walls, in the corridors that had once held too many secrets. Morning light slipped through tall windows and rested on marble floors without feeling watched. Guards resumed normal rotations. Staff spoke above whispers. Even the garden, still scarred in places where the earth had been torn and re-laid, began to smell like life instead of metal and fear.
But fault lines don't disappear just because the ground stops shaking.
They wait.
Vinny stood at the balcony outside his and Matthew's bedroom, fingers wrapped around a mug that had long since gone cold. Below him, the garden stretched wide and deceptively peaceful. Birds had returned. New soil had been laid. Fresh grass covered places where mines had once slept.
Careful where you step.
The words came unbidden, sliding back into his mind like a blade finding an old groove.
He exhaled slowly.
