The iron gates of the Vance Estate swung open, but this time, they didn't feel like the jaws of a trap. They felt like the entrance to a fortress.
We drove up the winding driveway in a convoy of black SUVs—Syndicate standard issue. Rook drove the lead car. I sat in the back with Cassian, his hand resting possessively on my thigh.
The house loomed ahead—massive, gothic, and imposing against the gray sky.
"It looks smaller," I whispered.
"That's because you outgrew it," Cassian said, looking at the stone facade. "For fifteen years, this was your entire world. Now... it's just a house."
We stepped out. The air smelled of rain and pine—the scent of my childhood.
The staff was waiting. The maids, the cooks, the gardeners. They lined up on the steps, heads bowed. They didn't know how to look at me. Was I still the Ward? The Mistress? The Queen?
Cassian took my hand and walked me up the steps. He stopped in front of the head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable.
