The night was deathly still.
The kind of silence that felt unnatural—like the world itself was holding its breath.
Moonlight bled through the curtains, casting silver shadows across the room. Outside, the occasional hoot of an owl echoed through the estate's empty corridors, but inside, there was only the steady, rhythmic sound of Lidia's breathing.
She was blissfully asleep.
For once, her mind wasn't running a mile a minute, and she had found comfort wrapped in the expensive silk sheets. Her face was buried into a pillow, body sprawled in her usual undignified sleeping position—half of her blanket hanging off the bed, one arm thrown over her head like she had dramatically fainted.
Then a shadow moved.
A figure slipped through the darkness, silent as a ghost, creeping toward the bed with the grace of a predator. The air shifted as it approached, the faintest rustle of fabric whispering against the cold night air.
