The afternoon light lay heavy across the De Luca estate, not warm in comfort but pale and stretched, as though the sun itself hesitated to settle fully upon ground that had seen too much too soon.
Elara stood near the tall windows of the study, her reflection faint against the glass, her posture upright yet not at ease, for her shoulders carried a stillness that did not belong to rest but to restraint.
Beyond the panes, the courtyard moved with quiet purpose, figures crossing stone paths, voices low, the world attempting to return to rhythm though something beneath it remained unsettled.
Her fingers rested lightly against the cold surface of the window frame, nails brushing the edge as though tracing something unseen, something only she could feel beneath her skin.
"…I didn't ask for this," she said.
Her voice was soft.
