Sandoz stepped down from the carriage first, his small hand clutching tightly to his mother's. Linnea followed, her spine straight as a blade, her expression carefully composed—a porcelain mask perfected over years of quiet survival. Behind them, Lara and Reya descended in tandem, the hem of Lara's midnight-blue cloak sweeping across the polished marble of the entryway like ink spilling over parchment.
The manor's great doors yawned open, revealing a long corridor aglow with lamplight and cold silence. A guard, stiff and wordless, gestured respectfully, and a servant led Linnea and Sandoz down the east wing toward their quarters. Their footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestones, disappearing into the hush.
"I'll see you both at supper," Lara said calmly, though her thoughts were already elsewhere. She turned, her eyes sharp with subtle alertness, and started toward the west wing with Reya trailing a few paces behind.
