Victoria came back with reinforcements. And I realized: the war for Kairos wasn't over.
The peace Elara and Kairos had been carefully building shattered three days after the donation. She was in the kitchen helping Leo make cookies—real ones from scratch, his small hands covered in flour and determination—when the doorbell rang.
Not the polite single chime of expected guests. Three sharp rings in succession. Demanding. Aggressive.
Kairos looked up from his laptop at the kitchen island, his expression darkening. "I'll get it."
"Who rings a doorbell like that?" Elara asked, washing flour off Leo's hands.
"People who think they own the place." His voice was tight as he moved toward the door.
Elara heard voices before she saw the visitors. Victoria's cut-glass accent, sharp and imperious. And another voice—female, musical, dripping with false sweetness.
"Darling, don't be difficult. We've come all this way to check on you."
