By sunrise the estate felt different.
Not quieter. Sharper.
Condolence banners still lined the outer walls. Flower arrangements crowded the entry hall. Staff moved with rehearsed softness, but the rhythm of the house had shifted. Conversations stopped when footsteps approached. Doors closed more quickly than before. Even the air felt filtered.
Arkana stood on the balcony outside his father's study, looking over the grounds as morning fog lifted from the lower gardens. Black sedans remained parked along the drive. Some belonged to relatives who had chosen to stay. Others belonged to people who had not yet decided where their loyalties belonged.
Temporary control. That was the phrase the lawyers used.
Temporary implied instability.
He checked his watch, then went inside.
