The knock came exactly three minutes before 8:15.
Elijah had spent those three minutes staring at himself in the full-length mirror near the closet. White hair. Golden eyes. A face that belonged to someone else wearing clothes that fit too perfectly.
Showtime.
He opened the door.
Sabrina stood there with her hands folded in front of her apron. Her professional mask was back in place. Whatever surprise she'd shown earlier had been filed away behind customer service smile number three.
"Young master." She nodded. "Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
She turned and started walking. Elijah followed.
The hallway stretched longer than it had any right to. Portraits lined the walls at regular intervals. Old men stared down at him from their frames with the kind of superiority that came from being dead and therefore immune to criticism. Every single one of them had white hair. Golden eyes. The family resemblance was so strong it was almost unsettling.
The mansion was massive. They passed doors that probably led to rooms Amon had never bothered exploring. A library. A sitting room. What looked like a gallery space. The architecture screamed old money trying desperately to convince everyone it was older than it actually was.
"So." Elijah kept his voice casual. "Are you my personal maid?"
Sabrina's foot caught on absolutely nothing.
She stumbled. Caught herself on the wall. Her head whipped around to look at him with eyes that had gone wide.
"You... you know you are not permitted to have a personal maid after..." She stopped. Swallowed whatever words had been about to come out. "Never mind. Apologies for speaking out of line, young master."
After what? After what?
Elijah wanted to push. Wanted to dig into whatever landmine he'd just stepped on. But Sabrina's shoulders had gone rigid. Her pace had quickened. The conversational door had slammed shut and locked from the inside.
"Okay," he said.
They walked in silence.
Down a staircase that curved like something out of a movie set. Through another hallway. Past more portraits. More doors. The place was a labyrinth designed by someone with too much space and not enough sense.
Sabrina stopped at a set of double doors. Dark wood. Gold handles. She pulled one open and stepped aside with a nod.
Elijah walked in.
The dining room could seat twenty easily. The table was already set with china that probably cost more per plate than most people made in a month. Crystal glasses caught the morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The smell of fresh bread and coffee hit him like a nostalgic punch to the gut.
Seven people sat at the table.
Three women clustered near the head. Different ages. Different styles. But all of them beautiful in that cultivated way that came from money and personal trainers. A little girl, maybe eight or nine, sat a few seats down swinging her legs under her chair. Two young men flanked the other side. Both had the white hair. Both had the golden eyes.
"Good morning," Elijah said.
Seven pairs of eyes locked onto him.
One of the women stood. She was older than the other two. Maybe late thirties. Her smile reached her eyes when she looked at him.
"Good morning, Amon." She gestured to the chair next to her. "Come here and sit with me. Your father will be here soon to see you off for your last meal as a member of this house."
Elijah walked toward the chair. A butler materialized from nowhere and pulled it out for him. He sat. The cushion was comfortable. Expensive. Everything in this place was expensive.
The little girl launched herself at him.
Her small arms wrapped around his torso in a hug. She pressed her face against his shoulder.
"Morning, Amon!" Her voice was muffled.
He patted her head awkwardly. "Morning."
She pulled back and grinned at him before returning to her seat.
The other women's faces were carefully neutral. The kind of neutral that took practice. But their eyes told a different story. Cold. Calculating. The look you gave someone you wanted gone.
The two young men were worse.
One of them, maybe a year or two younger than Amon's body but built like he actually used a gym, stared at his plate. His jaw was tight. His knuckles white where they gripped his fork.
The other one, younger still, couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve. He met Elijah's gaze with the kind of smugness that came from kids who'd never been punched in the face.
Elijah turned to the older brother. "You alright?"
The guy's head snapped up. His mouth opened.
"Master Aldric Von Rosen!" A butler's voice boomed from the doorway.
Everyone stood.
Elijah was the last one up. His chair scraped against the floor.
The man who walked in commanded the room just by existing. Tall. Broad shoulders. Clean-shaven with a jaw that could cut glass. White hair styled perfectly. If Leonardo DiCaprio had hit the gym for five years and aged like fine wine, this is what he'd look like.
Aldric Von Rosen walked to the head of the table and kissed each of the three women on the lips. Quick pecks. Practiced. Then he sat.
Everyone else sat.
Servants appeared with food. Platters of eggs. Fresh pastries. Fruit arranged like art. Bacon that smelled like heaven. Coffee that probably came from beans personally selected by monks in the mountains.
This is what I'm talking about. Finally. Some good fucking food.
Elijah reached for his fork.
"So, Amon." Aldric's voice was deep. Authoritative. The kind of voice that didn't need to be loud to be heard. "Are you ready for the ceremony tonight?"
Elijah's hand paused halfway to the bacon.
Ceremony. Right. The thing everyone keeps mentioning.
He leaned back in his chair. Grinned. "I was born ready."
The table went silent.
Aldric's eyebrows rose. He set down his coffee cup slowly. "You're mighty confident today, Amon."
Shit. Wrong answer. That was Elijah talking.
"Good," Aldric continued. His expression shifted into something approving. "You'll need that bravado. We leave at noon then."
The older brother, the one with the build, cleared his throat. "Father, about the ceremony. What exactly does it—"
"Christopher." Aldric's voice dropped ten degrees. "Don't ask stupid questions. It's a secret you can only know when you become of age."
Christopher's face flushed. "I... yes, father. Apologies. I'm just worried for my big brother." He glanced at Elijah. "He's the only Von Rosen that hasn't been able to use the family art. I don't want Amon to be in danger."
Christopher glanced at Elijah. His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second too long, the corner of his lip twitching into the ghost of a smirk before he smoothed it away.
"There is no reward without risk." Aldric cut into his eggs with surgical precision. "As a true Von Rosen heir, I have the utmost confidence in Amon."
The younger brother, the smug eleven-year-old, snorted. "I haven't heard of a true heir who couldn't master the basics of the secret art." He puffed out his chest. "I've already mastered it and I'm eleven!"
One of the women, the one sitting closest to Aldric, touched the kid's shoulder. "Richard..."
"I'm just saying." Richard shrugged her hand off. "I do hope my big brother does well though."
Oh I'm gonna punch this kid.
Every instinct in his body screamed to fire back. But he didn't know how Amon was supposed to act.
Confident? Meek? Angry? The family dynamics were a minefield and he was walking through it blindfolded. One wrong word and everyone would know something was off.
So he did the smart thing.
He ate.
The eggs were perfect. The bacon was crispy. The pastry melted in his mouth. If this was his last meal as a member of the house, at least it was a good one.
Breakfast continued in painful silence. Christopher pushed his food around his plate. Richard ate with the confidence of someone who'd never known failure. The women murmured to each other. The little girl hummed while she ate her fruit.
Aldric finished first. He stood. Everyone stopped eating.
"Amon." He looked directly at him. "Follow me."
Elijah wiped his mouth with a napkin that probably cost more than his old apartment's security deposit. He stood.
Time to find out what the hell a Von Rosen ceremony actually was.
And why everyone seemed to think he was going to die at it.