Inside the mansion, silence ruled—thick, heavy, and fragile.
Dark lay unconscious on the bed, his breathing shallow but steady. Trienne, the twin brother of Yvienna's father, stood beside him, carefully rolling a clean bandage around Dark's injured palm. His movements were precise, practiced, as though he had done this countless times before—tending wounds in the aftermath of violence.
"How is he?" Kyle asked quietly, worry etched deep into his voice.
Trienne let out a slow sigh before lifting his gaze—not toward Kyle, but to the other bed across the room.
Grey lay there, fast asleep. Her injuries had already been treated, her face pale but peaceful, as though exhaustion had finally claimed her after the nightmare of the night. Outside, dawn was beginning to break. The rain had stopped, replaced by the faint chorus of birds welcoming the morning. Soft light filtered through the windows, illuminating the room in muted gold.
