The rented manor sat in the upper merchant district, a quiet street of pale stone and wrought-iron lamps, close enough to the noble quarter to matter but far enough to afford privacy. Marble floors. Enchanted chandeliers that adjusted their glow to the hour. A private courtyard with a fountain that never stopped running, its water enchanted to cycle in a perfect, silent loop.
Wobbly claimed a silk cushion in the main sitting room within thirty seconds of arrival, its glow cycling through shades of deep, satisfied purple. Lysandra touched the floating chandelier in the entry hall like it might bite her, then stood beneath it, staring up, her expression caught somewhere between wonder and recalibration.
Florence walked past her, glanced up, and shrugged. "It's just light." She claimed the corner balcony room with a view of the city skyline and left the door open.
