//CLARA//
Two days had passed since we returned to New York.
The mansion felt different now. Emptier. Colder. Even with servants bustling through the halls, even with fires crackling in every hearth, the place had lost something I couldn't name.
Or maybe I had lost it.
Casimir had disappeared into his study the moment we arrived. I heard the door click shut from across the hall. He hadn't come out. Or if he had, he'd timed it perfectly to avoid me.
I'd been cooped up in my room. I told myself I was catching up on rest. I told myself I needed space to think. But the truth was simpler and more pathetic. I didn't want to run into him.
I was reading—or rather, staring at the same page for an hour—when a knock came at my door.
"Come in."
Higgins stepped inside, his face as impassive as ever. "Miss Thorne, you have a visitor. Mr. Whitfield."
The book slipped from my fingers.
