The storm did not arrive.
It hovered.
Suspended above the estate like a held breath that refused release.
Mist clung to the stone terraces, drifting low across the courtyard where torchlight trembled against ancient walls. The air carried rain, iron, and something deeper — a scent that stirred memory beneath thought.
Elara stepped into the corridor's open arch, seeking space from the tightening hush within the house. The night pressed close, heavy and listening.
Behind her, a door shut with deliberate softness.
She did not need to turn.
Her pulse had already changed.
"Why are you awake?" Alessandro's voice carried through the dim passage, low and controlled.
She folded her arms against the chill. "Sleep seems… optional tonight."
A faint exhale.
He stepped into the threshold of torchlight, shadow and flame dividing his face into restraint and instinct.
"You should remain inside," he said.
"You keep saying that."
"And you keep ignoring it."
