The sun hit the polished black wood of the Valerius carriage, making it gleam like a dark, obsidian mirror against the backdrop of the Minister's crumbling white estate. As the massive vehicle pulled up to the manor's entrance, Lucius stepped forward with a heavy, purposeful stride. He didn't wait for the footman to lower the step or open the door. With a gesture of surprising grace for a man who had spent a decade in the trenches of the Southern Line, he reached out his hand toward Evelina.
His palm was broad, calloused from the hilt of a sword and radiating a steady, grounding warmth. As Evelina's gloved hand met his, her soul-bound watch—invisible to all but her—hummed against her skin. He is checking my pulse through the thin skin of my wrist. He is searching for signs of the 'sickness' my father claimed I had. Evelina Murmured in her mind, After all she knew this tricks like back of the hand.
