CHAPTER 97 — WHAT SURVIVES THE LIGHT
The morning after clarity was never gentle.
Elena woke before the estate stirred, before the halls filled with footsteps and routine reclaimed its authority. Dawn pressed thin light through the curtains, pale and undecided, as if the day itself hadn't chosen a side yet. The silence in the room wasn't peaceful—it was expectant, holding its breath.
She lay still, listening.
No alarms.
No urgent calls.
No immediate fallout.
That, more than anything, unsettled her.
This was the pattern now. Impact delayed. Consequences measured and released only when they would do the most damage. Open confrontation had been replaced with restraint, and restraint, Elena had learned, was far more dangerous.
