The corridor outside the western study smelled of old stone and rain.
Elara stood there longer than necessary, fingers curled into the sleeve of her coat, heart doing that ridiculous, uneven thing it had learned since Regina. Every instinct told her to turn back. Every lesson she had learned as a human whispered the same warning:
Do not ask questions you are not ready to survive.
She knocked anyway.
"Enter," Alessandro's voice came, low and controlled.
Of course it was controlled. Everything about him was.
The study was dim, firelight catching on dark wood and older shadows. Alessandro stood by the window, back to her, hands braced against the sill as if the world beyond required holding in place.
He did not turn.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
Elara shut the door behind her. "That makes two of us."
A breath left him—sharp, almost a laugh. "What the hell do you want, Elara?"
There it was. Not anger. Not command.
Tension.
She crossed the room slowly. "An answer."
