Feng Suyin stood at the threshold of the Feng family mansion. Her heart thundered. The marble floors gleamed under muted sunlight, white and grey veins running through the stone like rivers on a map. Shadows stretched in the corners, long and thin in the late afternoon light.
She stepped forward.
Her shoes clicked against the cool floor, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings. The grand staircase spiraled upward, its polished banister glistening with a deceptive warmth. She didn't look at it. Didn't let herself remember running down those steps as a child, before she learned to be quiet, before she learned to shrink. But the memory came anyway—her seven-year-old self, laughing, before her mother's voice had cut through the house like a blade.
She paused at the heavy double doors to her mother's study. They were eight feet tall, dark wood, brass handles polished to a shine. She could see her reflection in the metal. Pale. Tired. Jaw tight.
