Three days passed.
That was all it took for the mansion to start breathing differently again.
Not loudly. Not violently. Just… off.
The kind of off that people like Matthew felt in their bones long before anything actually went wrong.
Matthew stood in the west corridor at dawn, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He hadn't slept. Again. Elia had cried once in the night—just once—and Vinny had been there before the sound fully left her throat. That alone should have calmed him.
It didn't.
Matthew stared at the security feeds lining the wall. Guards moved where they were supposed to. Cameras blinked green. No alerts. No breaches.
And yet—
"Something's rotting," he muttered.
"You've been saying that for two days," Vinny said softly behind him.
Matthew didn't turn. "And I'll keep saying it until it shows its teeth."
Vinny stepped closer, resting his chin briefly against Matthew's shoulder. He smelled like soap and warmth and sleep Matthew hadn't earned.
