The interior was a fever dream of velvet, gold leaf, and portraits of wolves that seemed to have personally invented the concept of arrogance. Hestia led me into a private parlor where the fireplace was already roaring.
"Refreshments for our guest, Silas," she said to an older man who appeared at her elbow. "And fetch the vintage sherry. The girl looks like she's about to faint under the weight of her own deception."
"I don't want anything. I want answers." I said quickly, my voice echoing in the vast room. I remained standing, mostly because I was afraid that if I sat down, the money under my coat would explode out of my collar like confetti.
