The estate did not sleep.
It held its breath.
Dawn had not yet broken, yet the corridors carried a hush so complete it felt deliberate — like silence imposed rather than natural. Elara walked alone beneath dim wall lamps, her steps echoing against marble floors that seemed to belong to another century.
Her reflection followed her in tall glass panels: pale, wide-eyed, and not entirely convinced she still belonged to the world she came from.
Outside, the night had witnessed something impossible.
Inside, no one spoke of it.
Her fingers curled into the sleeves of her sweater.
"Ridiculous," she murmured under her breath. "This is ridiculous."
The word sounded weak against what she had seen.
A figure detached itself from the shadows at the corridor's end.
Luca.
He leaned against the wall as if he had been waiting for hours — which, knowing this place, he probably had.
"You don't sleep much, do you?" he said.
She startled despite herself. "Holy— Luca. Don't do that."
