Winter was here.
The next day broke with the hush of snow over the Leonidus estate. The air was silver, soft, and mercilessly still.
Within the chamber of mirrors, Aiden stood before his reflection—unfamiliar, distant, half-vanished behind the new face he had crafted.
His once-white hair, the mark of his identity, shimmered now in black. The golden light in his eyes had turned to a tranquil blue, oceanic yet cold.
His reflection looked like a stranger dressed in shadow—a man reshaped by purpose. Tanya stood behind him, hands deft and practiced, her fingers moving through strands of hair like a sculptor refining marble.
The faint scent of iron and crushed herbs filled the room.
"There," she murmured, smudging a spot of color along his cheek. "No one will see the Aiden anymore."
