The mansion was quieter than it had been in weeks, but the silence wasn't comforting—it was heavy, lingering in every broken wall and bloodstained corner. Tessa's defeat had left the house in a fragile state, but the real damage wasn't the shattered furniture or the battered security systems. It was the tension hanging between Claire and me, unspoken and raw.
I sat on the couch, the heat of the fireplace doing little to thaw the chill inside me. The snowstorm outside raged on, a relentless reminder of how unforgiving the world had become. My hands fidgeted with a loose thread on my sleeve, my thoughts a swirling mess.
Then I heard her footsteps.
Claire stepped into the room, fresh from training. Her damp hair hung loose, framing her sharp features. A towel hung around her neck, and her muscles seemed to ripple with every movement. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who'd just been reborn. But there was something else beneath it, something raw and unsteady.
