They slipped into the manor under cover of shadow, their movements fluid and practiced along a servant's passage rarely used at this hour. The torch sconces cast low amber light on the stone walls, and the scent of cold iron and old wood filled the air. Aleksasha led them through a narrow side hall that spilled into the lesser-trafficked wing of the estate, the one closest to her chambers. The halls were still and hushed, undisturbed by footfalls or whispers.
Matias walked beside her with the same calm precision he had once used to stalk battlefields — cloaked in silence, deadly in posture. The borrowed cloak was wrapped around his hips, tied loosely at the side, but it did little to hide the strength of his form.
Aleksasha did her best to keep her eyes forward, to focus on the echo of Selene's words in her mind. A beast that should not be. An echo of something older. Something that should have stayed buried.
