The villa was quiet.
Too quiet, the stillness pressing in like a weight, broken only by the faint hum of the half-lit chandeliers above, casting a pale glow over the polished wood of the dining table.
Plates sat in front of Freya and Rhea—still warm, though neither had truly bothered with the taste, their forks moving mechanically through the motions of eating.
Clara had left nearly an hour ago, slipping back to the hospital after Liss vanished with the green-haired girl.
She'd walked out without ceremony, her white coat trailing like a whisper of authority, her snow-white hair catching the last light as she left the two women alone with their restless thoughts.
Now it was just them, the air heavy with unspoken worry.
Rhea stabbed half-heartedly at her food, her crimson wavy hair tangled and wild, falling over one shoulder, streaks of ash catching the lamplight like dying embers.
