The estate was quiet.
Most of the lights in the east wing were off, except for a thin line of light coming from under the study door. The hallway was dim, lit only by small wall lamps at regular intervals—the carpet muffled footsteps. The air was still.
Franz closed the front door quietly and did not turn on any lights. He placed his keys on the console table, folded his coat over his arm, and did not check his phone.
He walked toward the stairs, the carpet softening his steps. The second floor felt warmer than the coastal wind he had left only hours earlier. As he turned into the east wing, he noticed a faint light coming from under Arianne's study door.
He knocked once.
"Come in," she said.
Her voice flowed smoothly through the door. No surprises. No raised tone.
Franz opened the door and stepped inside. The study lamp cast a circle of light over Arianne's desk, where documents were stacked neatly, one folder open in front of her.
