The corridor stretched ahead like a dark vein running through the heart of the Ashford Estate — dim, narrow, lined with ancient oak panels that swallowed both sound and light like greedy old secrets.
Lina, the tiny maid who had whispered her name like it was the most dangerous confession of the night, moved with the quiet, practiced grace of someone who had spent her entire life memorizing which floorboards creaked and which shadows were safe to borrow.
Phei followed two steps behind, every footfall deliberate, almost as if the faint frost from the vanished portal was still clinging to the hem of his jacket like guilty evidence that refused to melt.
"Let's use the back way, Sir Phei," she breathed, voice barely louder than the rustle of her crisp black-and-white uniform. "Garden entrance. Less eyes."
They slipped through a side door and the cool night air slammed into them — damp, heavy, thick with the intoxicating scent of night-blooming jasmine and wet stone.
