The heavy iron gates of the Pedro mansion groaned shut, echoing the finality of the day. Julian watched Amara walk toward the front door, her silhouette framed by the amber glow of the porch light. She looked fragile, exhausted by a grace that seemed too heavy for one person to carry.
After ensuring she was safely inside, Julian finally pulled away. But the silence of the drive was short-lived.
Barely an hour had passed before the screech of tires pierced the quiet of the estate. Julian burst through the foyer, his face a mask of pale agitation.
Madam Pedro, draped in a silk robe and holding a cooling cup of tea, looked up with a sharp frown. "Julian? I thought you'd gone home. Why are you back at this hour?"
Julian didn't offer a greeting. His breath came in shallow hitches. "Where is Amara? Is she awake?"
"She's exhausted, Julian. She finally went to sleep," Madam Pedro replied, her voice tightening with a sudden, intuitive dread. "What has happened?"
