The rain had not stopped for three days.
It fell softly now, like ash from some unseen fire, and the whole city seemed to wait — carriages slower on the roads, voices lower in cafés, as if everyone knew something was about to break.
Inside The Nest, the world was quieter still. The lamps burned low, the scent of wax mingled with rain-soaked air. Serena stood by the window, hands clasped behind her back, watching droplets chase each other down the glass.
She hadn't slept since the vote passed for inquiry into Emily's name.
Behind her, the sound of paper and ink: Leonard at the table, reviewing ledgers with his usual grim focus; Charlton leaning over a map of Windsor, tracing lines between districts with a piece of chalk; Emily Evans sitting apart from them all — poised, silent, her dignity unshaken even as her world fractured.
Baroness Evans.
