Leaving her alone at the foot of the Overseer's estate.
Elara stood motionless for a heartbeat, gripping the suitcase handle until her fingers turned pale. The fog, thick as wool, curled around her legs like it wanted to lead her somewhere—or hold her in place.
The estate loomed ahead, silent and impossibly still.
She forced her feet forward.
Each step across the stone path echoed faintly in the morning quiet. The air felt old—older than the building itself—like something that had been waiting long before she even existed. The heavy wooden doors, layered in ornate carvings that curled like vines frozen mid-climb, towered over her.
There was no doorbell.
No knocker.
No handle.
Just two massive slabs of carved wood.
She hesitated, then raised a hand and pressed her palm against the surface.
The doors opened instantly.
Not gradually.
Not with a groan.
They parted as though pushed from within by invisible hands.
Her breath hitched. She stepped inside before she could second-guess herself, the doors drifting closed behind her with a muted, final click.
The entrance hall swallowed her in cold air and shadows.
It was vast—larger than she had expected, with ceilings that soared so high they dissolved into the gloom. Dark beams arched overhead, intricate enough to suggest a hand that cared about details, expensive enough to suggest a hand that cared about nothing but power.
A great staircase curled upward in a sweeping spiral, its railings carved from deep, dark wood. Candle sconces lined the walls, flames flickering though no one had lit them.
The air smelled faintly of old stone, dust, and something sweet—something floral but faded, like rose petals long past bloom.
Elara's suitcase wheels rattled over the polished floor, the sound swallowed by the emptiness. She cleared her throat.
"Hello?"
Her voice evaporated instantly.
A soft click sounded to her left. She turned sharply.
A door—previously invisible in the shadows—had opened an inch.
Someone was watching her.
She couldn't see them, but she felt the presence—quiet, intentional, observant.
"Elara."
The voice came from above.
She looked up.
At the top of the sweeping staircase stood a man. Tall. Impossibly still. Dressed in a dark waistcoat and tailored trousers that looked like they belonged in another century. His hair was black, perfectly combed. His posture was flawless, every angle deliberate—as if he had been carved, not born.
His face…
His face held a calm that wasn't human calm. A calm too clean, too contained. Like emotion had been trained out of him so thoroughly only the echo of it remained.
But his eyes—
Gray. Frosted. Intelligent in a way that made her stomach clench.
He descended each step slowly, with the unhurried precision of someone who never needed to rush a single moment in his life.
"Elara Vance," he said softly, as though tasting the shape of her name. "Welcome."
She forced herself to speak. "Are you the Overseer?"
He reached the last step. He smiled—not warmly, not politely. It was an acknowledgment, a confirmation, a possession.
"Yes."
The single word vibrated through the air like a note from an unseen instrument.
When he stepped closer, she felt his presence before she saw it—like the temperature around him shifted subtly.
"You've traveled a long way." His voice was deep, low, controlled. "Longer than you realize."
"I didn't exactly get a choice," she murmured, unable to stop herself.
His expression didn't change, but something sharp flickered behind his eyes.
"There are always choices," he said. "Some just matter more than others."
Before she could unpack that, a soft creak sounded behind her—near the door that had cracked open earlier.
Elara turned just as a figure stepped into the edge of the candlelight.
A woman.
Young. Pale. Wearing a simple gray dress, hair tied back in a low knot. Her bare feet made no sound on the polished floor.
She kept her eyes lowered, but Elara could see tension in the woman's shoulders—tight, wound like wire.
The Overseer spoke without turning. "This is Mara."
The woman flinched slightly at the sound of her name.
"She assists me in managing the household."
Elara nodded slowly. "And she knew I was coming?"
"I know everyone who enters my estate," he replied.
Mara's eyes lifted just enough to meet Elara's—wide, dark, and filled with a quiet message Elara couldn't decipher yet. A warning? A plea?
But then her gaze dropped again, obediently, almost fearfully.
The Overseer stepped closer to Elara, and Mara retreated instantly into the shadows—as if she knew exactly how close she could stand without inviting consequence.
"Elara," the Overseer said, his voice softening. "Your room is prepared. Breakfast is waiting. And after you rest…"
He paused, studying her face with unnerving intensity.
"…then we will discuss your assignment."
A shiver moved through her.
Not from the cold.
From the way he said assignment.
From the way the estate seemed to listen.
From the way Mara had looked at her—as though she had just watched someone step into a trap she'd seen close before.
Elara nodded slowly, suitcase handle trembling slightly in her grip. "Alright," she said quietly. "Show me."
The Overseer offered his arm—not for her to take, but simply to indicate the direction.
"Follow me."
He turned toward the interior hall.
And Elara followed him deeper into the estate.