The east wing was colder than the rest of the estate. Magnolia always felt it , how the stones there seemed to remember old grief. The walls hummed with every step she took down the narrow corridor, her boots echoing over the damp floor. Outside, dawn had given way to a brittle morning light, but it barely touched this part of the keep. Shadows clung to the corners like mildew.
Sterling waited for her in what used to be the library. Once, the place had smelled of old leather, dry parchment, candles burning low while wolves whispered secrets of treaties and bloodlines. Now, half the shelves stood empty. Torn books littered the floor beside broken chairs and a window half-boarded to keep the wind from howling through.
