Back at the House of Mork, the situation had become strangely quiet.
The tremor had already faded, leaving behind only the aftermath of Linn's outburst. Several holes remained carved into the walls, their edges jagged and broken, while pieces of wood and stone littered the floor. Snow had even blown inside through one of the larger openings, slowly gathering in small patches across the hallway.
Fran stood near the bed, his eyes fixed on his wife.
She was still asleep.
Despite the chaos that had erupted around the mansion, not even the shaking of the earth had awakened her. Her breathing remained slow and steady, almost too peaceful for someone lying in the middle of such destruction.
Flinn sat nearby.
She hadn't said much since watching Lexel carry Linn away. Her eyes occasionally shifted toward the hole in the wall where they had disappeared, but she remained silent.
