The afternoon sun was beginning its slow descent behind the rooftops of London, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and burnt orange. It was a beautiful sight, but inside the drawing room of the Hamilton mansion, Ines barely noticed the view.
She sat on a plush velvet sofa, a cup of Earl Grey tea cooling in her hands. The porcelain was delicate, painted with tiny blue flowers, but to Ines, it felt heavy. Every tick of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed to echo the beating of her own heart.
Tick. Tock.
Time was running out. The Masquerade Ball was approaching. The trap for Priscilla was set. Carcel was healed. The decoy manuscript was out in the world. Everything was in motion, like a line of dominoes waiting for a single push.
Ines took a sip of the tea. It was cold. She wrinkled her nose but swallowed it anyway. She needed the routine. She needed to feel normal.
Suddenly, a commotion broke out in the hallway.
