Strax left Vorah's mansion without saying goodbye. Diana didn't require that kind of ceremony. The sky was now blackened by clouds that carried more ash than rain. The city fell asleep amid moans and hammering. He crossed the gates again, this time unnoticed—as if his conversation with Diana had made him part of the mansion's own shadows.
The garden behind the residence was large, too lush for a city that was bleeding. The flowers were vivid in intense hues—deep reds, almost impossible blues—as if fed by something more than soil and sun. Strax walked among them with a reverence that did not match his usual demeanor. His footsteps fell silent as he approached the most hidden part of the grounds.
The stone path disappeared among thick vines, but he knew it well. He had been there once before, when he was too young to understand what was worthy and what was forbidden. Now, however, each step seemed to pull him deeper, not only into the garden, but into himself.
