The estate was nothing like the shop.
It was quiet. Horribly, perfectly quiet.
01911 stood in the grand entry hall, her bare feet sinking into silk carpets threaded with silver vines. Above her, chandeliers floated without chains, their crystals humming softly with magic. The windows were impossibly tall—frosted, not barred—and the scent of cold lavender drifted faintly through the air.
She didn't know where to look. So she looked nowhere.
"Strip her," the steward said, not unkindly. "She cannot wear rags before the Lady."
Two attendants—elfin women dressed in white and gold—approached her. Their movements were gentle, but efficient. They cut the shift from her shoulders and lifted her into a copper tub without a word.
The water was warm. Too warm. It stung.
01911 bit her lip hard enough to draw blood as the soap scraped her skin raw. Her hair was soaked, combed, and braided. The marks on her back—old lashes, some half-healed, others fresh—were washed like any other dirt.
They dressed her in pale blue linen, clean and thin, with soft slippers and no jewelry. Humans didn't wear jewelry in noble houses. That was for things of value.
She was led into a sitting room and made to kneel.
The elfwoman entered moments later, a vision in twilight silk.
"Better," she said coolly, circling her like a critic before a statue. "You'll speak to no one unless they speak to you. That includes the staff. Your eyes stay down. Your steps stay light."
01911 bowed her head lower.
The elf paused beside her. "If Lord Fenris is displeased, you will not be returned. Do you understand?"
01911 nodded. "Yes, my lady."
Something brushed her cheek—cool fingertips, faintly perfumed. Not kind. Not cruel. Just curious.
"You're not beautiful," the elfwoman said absently. "But you are… forgettable. That's more useful, sometimes."
She clapped her hands. A servant stepped forward with a silver tray. On it sat a collar—thin, ornate, fitted with a pale blue gem at the throat.
01911 stiffened.
"Don't tremble," the elf murmured as the servant fastened it around her neck. "It's not enchanted. Not yet."
The clasp clicked into place.
"You'll be kept here for two nights," the elf continued, already turning away. "After that, we ride north. Make yourself clean. Make yourself dull. Do not embarrass me."
With that, she was gone.
01911 was left kneeling alone, the weight of the collar unfamiliar on her skin.
That night, she slept in a room meant for servants, but it had a bed. Sheets. A window. She did not touch the fruit left on the table. She'd been punished for eating without permission before.
Instead, she sat beside the window, gazing at the snow-covered gardens outside. Trees that looked like ghost hands swayed in the wind.
Somewhere out there, in the far reaches of ice and claw, waited the Alpha.
She wondered if he would be cruel.
Or worse—kind.