Draven Point Of View
The garden was silent, but not peaceful.
It never was.
The Villa's reserved garden sat behind layers of iron gates and stone walls, hidden from the rest of the estate like a secret that refused to be shared. No servants. No guards. No outsiders. Just me, my brothers, and ghosts that never left.
I dragged the cigarette to my lips and inhaled hard.
Too hard.
The smoke burned down my throat, scraped my lungs raw, but I welcomed it. Pain was something I could control. Unlike the rest of my thoughts, which kept clawing at me no matter how deep I buried them.
Exhale.
Smoke curled into the night air, dissolving beneath the moonlight filtering through the ancient trees. The scent of damp earth and crushed leaves mixed with tobacco. My foot tapped restlessly against the stone path.
Impatient.
Angry.
Tired.
I'd called them both without explanation. Just one short message. Come to the garden. Now.
Footsteps crunched behind me.
I didn't turn.
I didn't need to.
