Night had fully fallen over the villa, and the shadows pooled like ink in the corners of Crassus's private chambers. The great windows were closed against the chill, but the orange smear of torchlight from the courtyard still found its way through the heavy drapes and painted the marble floor in slow, trembling bands. The estate, with its columns and frescoes and the faint, perfumed echo of the day's incense, should have felt like sanctuary. Instead it felt like a gilded cage.