The Grand Estate was silent.
The guests were gone, the carriages departed, the torches extinguished.
Only the faint hiss of snow against the windows broke the stillness.
Bruno sat alone in the foyer. The great oak doors closed behind him; the fire burned low in the grate.
He leaned back on the sofa, his cane resting against the arm, his gaze fixed on nothing.
His shoulders sagged, the weight of the past days pressing down like a stone.
He did not move when Heidi entered.
He heard her steps, light but certain, and knew it was her long before she came into view.
She carried a single mug of beer, the foam still rising.
She stopped before him, holding it out.
He shook his head. "Not tonight."
Her lips curved, not in a smile, but in that faint, knowing expression she wore when truth cut deeper than denial.
"When a dog doesn't eat," she murmured, "that's when you know something's really wrong."
