The car slowed as Trevor guided it down a quieter street, away from the glittering avenues of the capital's center. Lucas straightened slightly, narrowing his eyes as he caught the glow of lamps through an iron gate ahead.
"Where are we?" he asked, suspicion threading his voice. "If this is some kind of noble club, I'm turning around and walking home."
Trevor ignored him, pulling the car smoothly into a private drive. The tall ironwork gates opened without question, swinging inward as though the city itself obeyed him. Beyond them, a glass dome shimmered in the lamplight, its curved panels catching the reflections of ivy and lanterns within.
Lucas blinked. "Is that… a greenhouse?"
Trevor cut the engine, unhurried, and slipped his gloves into the console. He turned toward him, his expression unreadable but steady. "The conservatory. Oldest in the capital. You've never been."
