The corridors of Vale Manor seemed narrower after the garden.
Elma and Calista moved in silence, their footsteps muffled by rugs too thick for comfort. Every flickering lantern cast their shadows long and thin on the walls, as if the house itself was stretching them out, pinning them like specimens.
They didn't speak until they reached Calista's private chamber. Calista locked the door behind them with a click that sounded far too loud.
Only then did her shoulders sag. She leaned back against the door, rubbing her arms as though she couldn't shake the serpent's hiss from her skin.
"I almost faltered," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "When he asked if I loved him."
Elma's smirk was sharp but tired. "You didn't."
"Barely."
Elma stepped closer, lifting her hand but stopping just short of touching her face. "You did what you had to. Like always."
Calista finally looked up at her, eyes sharp again but with something raw beneath them. "He knew."
"He always knows."
Silence stretched between them, heavy as the leash around Elma's throat. She touched it absently, fingers tracing the faintly glowing sigil hidden under her collar. It pulsed once, sharply, like Nitron's reminder that she wasn't free.
A knock broke the quiet.
Both women tensed.
A servant's voice, muffled through the door: "A message from the Master."
Calista's mask snapped back into place. She unlocked the door and took the envelope from the servant's tray without a word. The servant bowed low and left without meeting her eyes.
Elma watched as Calista slit it open. A single serpent scale, polished black, slipped out and landed in her palm.
There was no note. No instructions. Just that.
Calista stared at it, her jaw tight. "A warning."
"Or a leash tug," Elma muttered.
She felt heat crawl up her throat. The sigil burned suddenly, making her gasp and grab the edge of the table. The shard in her sleeve pulsed in response, as if agitated.
"Elma?" Calista stepped forward quickly, catching her arm.
"I'm fine," Elma hissed through clenched teeth. The burn faded, leaving a faint, smoky taste in her mouth.
Calista glanced toward the door, lowering her voice. "He's playing with you. Testing your reaction."
"Then I won't give him one," Elma said.
She straightened, shrugging off Calista's grip. But her hands were shaking, and they both noticed.
The house was quieter than it had been a moment ago. Too quiet. Elma felt the hairs on her arms rise.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered.
Calista frowned, listening. There was nothing—no footsteps, no wind, not even the crackle of torches in the hall.
"The house feels wrong," Elma muttered.
"It's been wrong," Calista said softly.
They stepped back from the door, both on edge. Elma glanced toward the window, but even the gardens below looked strange—the serpent statues seemed to be facing the manor now, their jeweled eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"Let's move," Calista whispered.
They left the chamber, sticking to the narrow servant corridors. But even here, unease followed them. They passed a locked door that hadn't been locked before; the sigils etched on its frame glimmered faintly as Elma walked by, like it was aware of her.
"Keep going," Calista murmured.
When they finally reached the lower library, they slipped inside and sealed the door behind them. The air smelled of old paper and ink, comforting compared to the halls above.
Elma leaned against the table, exhaling. "I hate this house."
Calista didn't argue. She moved to the far shelf, retrieving an old book of sigils. "If we're going to move against him, we need to understand this." She glanced at the glowing mark on Elma's collarbone. "The leash, the hall, all of it."
Elma dropped the shard on the table. Its glow painted the room in faint blue light, the sigils shifting lazily across its surface. It felt… aware. Like it was listening.
"Start talking, then," Elma said.
Calista sat, flipping through the book. "Vale magic isn't just about power. It's about ownership. Everything in this house is bound to him. The walls, the halls, even the air." She hesitated. "The leash is part of that system. If we break it, we'll break him."
"Good." Elma leaned closer, her eyes on the shard. "Then let's find out how."
The shard pulsed once, harder this time.
"See?" Elma smirked. "It's on our side."
Calista shot her a sharp look. "Or it's amused."
Before Elma could reply, footsteps echoed outside the library. Slow, deliberate.
Both women froze.
The door rattled once. Then Nitron's voice, calm and sharp as a blade:
"Bring them to me."
Calista's hand found Elma's wrist under the table. The shard glowed faintly, as if answering.
Elma smirked, though her pulse thundered. "Guess we're invited."
Calista exhaled shakily, mask sliding back into place. "Then let's not keep him waiting."
They left the library together, every step feeling like a step closer to a noose.