The mansion woke before the sun did.
It always had.
But this morning felt sharpened—like the air itself had edges.
Guards rotated in silence. Doors clicked. Coffee brewed. Somewhere upstairs, Elia's soft cry echoed faintly through the east wing, followed almost immediately by Vinny's gentle shushing.
Life continued.
Danger did too.
Noah stood in the kitchen before anyone else arrived.
He liked it that way.
The early hours were honest. No pretending. No whispers. No glances that lingered too long. Just the hum of refrigeration units and the quiet rhythm of knives against wood.
He chopped fruit with deliberate precision, every movement controlled.
The stranger's face replayed in his mind.
Not threatening.
Not kind.
Intent.
That was the word.
Intent like someone measuring him for something.
"You're up early."
Noah didn't flinch this time.
