The summons left no room for delay.
Within moments, Lucien and Liora were led through torch-lit corridors and into the carriage that awaited them outside the manor. The night air was sharp, carrying the damp weight of mist that clung to the streets. The horses shifted restlessly, as if they too sensed the unease that wrapped itself around the Blackthorne name.
Inside, the carriage was cloaked in silence. Only the rhythm of wheels against cobblestones and the faint creak of wood marked the passage of time.
Liora sat stiffly, her hands clasped in her lap so tightly her knuckles ached. The shadows across Lucien's face, carved by the lantern glow, made him look even more remote, like a man sculpted of stone, not flesh.
Finally, she broke the silence. "Is this what you wanted? For me to discover the truth like this, through scraps, through whispers? From everyone but you?"
