[Evelina's POV—Vinter Mansion—Midnight After the Ambush]
The mansion didn't sleep.
It never did.
Even past midnight, even after blood had dried and bodies were burned out of existence, the halls hummed with quiet vigilance—guards changing shifts, footsteps measured, weapons checked twice.
War doesn't announce itself when it arrives.
It settles in.
I stood at the window of my room, fingers resting lightly against the glass, watching the city breathe below. Lights flickered. Cars passed. People lived.
As if tonight hadn't happened.
As if Cassian Vinter hadn't drawn the first real line in blood.
Behind me, Alina slept curled into the pillows, clutching the edge of my sleeve like it was a lifeline. She hadn't cried again. Children who grow up around violence rarely do. They adapt.
That thought made something cold coil in my chest.
