The air hung heavy with anticipation, not the electric pulse of impending violence, but the slow, deliberate cadence of a game whose players moved invisible pieces across unseen boards. Each step was measured. Each gesture was weighted with intent.
Aria stood by the grand window, hands folded loosely before her. She watched the estate exhale a quieter, more calculated rhythm. The walls no longer whispered secrets born of fear or paranoia. Instead, they hummed with the gravity of consequence, a silent chorus acknowledging the shift in power.
Dante's absence beside her was no longer a void. It was a deliberate, calibrated space, a challenge without words. It was a statement louder than any command. This was no longer a house ruled by fear or ironclad control. It was a chessboard. And they were no longer pawns.
