Marina Arlandia sat by the tall window of the Draven mansion's sitting room, her gaze soft as she watched through the glass. The garden outside shimmered with dew, the early sun breaking through the horizon like golden silk. She could see her daughter there—Lea, her precious girl—walking beside Hugo. Well, "walking" might have been too generous. Lea's steps were slow, hesitant, almost bashful, and Hugo hovered at her side like a shadow unwilling to part.