Nicole sat by the tall window of the manor, wrapped in a shawl stitched by Clarice before she had vanished into silence. The cold didn't bother her as much these days. A quiet strength pulsed beneath her skin—balanced light and darkness intertwined within her bones. But that didn't ease the unease swelling in her heart.
She stared at the snow falling gently beyond the glass.
The house was quiet.
Jasper had gone again—to another meeting. Another discussion with Noah about the state of the lands, the tensions rising among the vampires, and the strange silences that followed in the wake of every whisper of Serf's name.
She exhaled slowly.
"She's not gone."
The thought sat heavy in her chest. Nicole knew Chantelle too well. The Duchess of Darkness was many things—ruthless, powerful, obsessive—but most of all, she was cunning. Chantelle didn't vanish. She retreated.
Somewhere, in the folds between planes or in the hearts of others, she was watching. Planning.
