Cold evening air twisted sharply in Lucian's lungs as he reached the Valemont gates. The chill felt heavier than it should, like the house itself exhaled frost. Quenya floated behind his collar, invisible, her presence tightening when she sensed the edge in him. He tried to set his shoulders straight, but the dread clung under his ribs.
The iron gates opened without a word.
The butler waited inside the archway. A tall man, pale, with a face carved into courtesy. He did not bow. He only turned and walked. Lucian followed through the long front hall while the marble floor carried every sound except theirs. The servants along the walls held still as statues. No one met his eyes. That part landed harder than he expected.
The butler stopped at a lacquered door, gave a single nod, and stepped aside.
