The estate felt different that evening. Not the gentle, golden light of morning or the quiet peace of the garden but a tension that pressed against the walls, crept along the polished marble, and seeped into every shadowed corner. Selara sensed it the moment she stepped into the main hall: the subtle shift in the air, the whispered undercurrent of anticipation, the faint metallic tang that made her silver veins pulse more visibly beneath her skin.
Draven was already there, standing near the staircase, his posture impeccable, yet not without alertness. Every line of his body radiated control, authority, and something sharper: calculated vigilance. His golden eyes flicked up at her the instant she entered, and Selara felt that familiar pull his presence anchoring her even as uncertainty churned inside her.
"I can feel them gathering," he murmured without turning, voice low, carrying the weight of command. "Not all of them openly. Some are cautious, watching… testing."
