The mansion seemed restless.
Strax walked through the wide corridors with faster-than-usual steps, the dry sound of his boots echoing against the polished marble. Antique tapestries swayed slightly as he passed, and the servants, seeing him, instinctively lowered their heads and moved out of the way.
He was nervous.
Not furious—yet.
But that silent tension that precedes decisions that change destinies.
Upon reaching the office door, he didn't knock.
He pushed it open.
The atmosphere was exactly as always… and completely different at the same time.
Cristine sat on the desk, one leg crossed over the other, twirling a dagger between her fingers with almost hypnotic precision. The blade reflected the twilight light streaming through the window, casting silvery sparks in the air. Her gray hair fell loose over her shoulders, and her gaze—attentive, sharp—had been fixed on him from the moment the door opened.
