The night wraps around the Kael mansion like velvet—deep and endless. Every window spills warm light into the darkness, golden squares floating in the black. The gardens glow under hidden lamps, light catching on leaves, on the curves of petals, on the dark soil beneath.
The air is still, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere unseen.
The servants stand in their usual rows—backs straight, chins lifted, eyes forward. They have stood like this for generations, through storms and celebrations, through joy and grief.
Tonight, they stand for me.
I step out of the car, the night air brushing softly against my face.
Deniz follows, the quiet sound of his shoes on gravel marking his presence beside me. In his hands, he carries a bouquet of pink roses—the exact shade Angel loves, the one he spent ten minutes choosing, comparing blooms under the florist's light.
