The car stopped before the Ministry with a soft hiss of rain.
Serena Maxwell gathered her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she stepped out, the damp air clinging to her skin. The stone steps glistened, dark and polished from the storm. Two guards bowed as she passed — a gesture less of courtesy than of curiosity.
Everyone knew she would come here often now.
Everyone whispered.
Inside, the corridors of the Ministry stretched in polished restraint — black marble, heavy draperies, faint echoes of boots on stone. She walked steadily, her pulse too loud in her ears, the folded letter still in her hand.
When she reached the tall double doors of the Minister's office, she paused.
The silence behind them was thick, the kind that hummed with thought.
A secretary bowed. "He's expecting you, Lady Maxwell."
She nodded once, composed, and entered.
The first thing she felt was the heat.
