(The Nest, Late Night – mid-March, following the inquiry)
The storm had softened into mist by the time they returned to The Nest.
Lanterns burned low in the windows, throwing long, slow shadows against the walls. It was late — closer to dawn than midnight — and the air smelled faintly of smoke, rain, and ink.
Inside, silence hung like an ache.
Emily Evans sat in the drawing room, still in her courtroom gown, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap. The flickering fire painted her face in soft gold, the only color in her otherwise pale composure. Leonard dozed fitfully in a nearby chair, his crutch leaning against the armrest.
Serena entered quietly, her cloak still damp, and crossed to the piano without thinking. She did not play. She simply let her fingers rest on the keys — as if the cool ivory might steady her.
Charlton stood behind her for a long time before he spoke.
"You shouldn't have confronted Danton like that," he said softly.
