The manor breathed differently when Gregoris was gone.
Shadows didn't swagger. They didn't slam doors or laugh too loudly in corridors the way soldiers did. But they existed in a very specific tension when their commander was away, like wolves pacing a territory that didn't quite feel like theirs to defend alone. The halls whispered. Wards hummed low, restrained but alert. Lights stayed lit longer than necessary, as if no one quite trusted darkness without him in it.
When he returned, the world exhaled.
The main doors opened without a sound. The wards stirred, brightened, and then relaxed with the lazy stretch of something ancient recognizing its master. He stepped inside quietly, though he was incapable of going unnoticed here. Power trailed him like heat after lightning. Blood stained his coat, his gloves, and the curve of his jaw.
He has not removed it yet.
