The morning light in Haselburg came thin and colorless, combed through by mist that pressed pale against the windowpanes. The silence in the ransacked room stretched heavy, as if even the walls strained to listen.
A soft sound stirred—the faint pad of paws. Anneliese's head snapped toward it, her heart leaping before she recognized the sleek, dark figure slipping into the room.
"Oscar…" she whispered.
The cat's eyes gleamed gold in the fractured light, unnervingly intelligent. He leapt onto the broken table with a grace that belonged more to a predator than a pet. His gaze fixed on Vincenzo, unblinking.
"What happened here?" Vincenzo's voice was low, edged with command.
Oscar did not move, but his answer slid cold into his master's mind: "I heard whispers and followed them into the restricted forest. No one was there, but the ground stank of dark magic, clinging like rot. When I returned, shadows were already slipping from here—vanishing before I could catch them."
