CHAPTER 90
The east wing felt different long before Lucian reached it. The change was subtle at first, the air getting cooler, heavier, as though it had settled into the walls and refused to move with the rest of the house.
The polished elegance that marked the main halls did not reach this far. The marble floors gave way to older stone, uneven in places, worn smooth by time rather than design.
The lighting was dimmer here, the chandeliers replaced by wall sconces whose flames burned low and steady, casting long, unmoving shadows.
This part of the house had been renovated, yes. But not restored. Not truly changed. The deeper he walked, the more the structure seemed to resist the illusion of modern grandeur.
The walls were thicker. The silence was denser. Even the scent of the place was different, earth, old wood, faint traces of smoke and something older still, something that did not belong to any century that still remembered him.
