A Room Filled with Hidden Blades
The moment Lane stepped inside the mansion, the air changed.
Not visibly.
Not in any obvious way.
But she felt it.
A shift.
Subtle.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
The door closed behind her with a quiet, deliberate sound that echoed just a little too long in the silent hall. The faint scent of old wood and metal lingered in the air—clean, but not warm. This wasn't a home.
It was a den.
Every step she took forward was measured, but not slow. Her posture remained relaxed, shoulders loose, expression calm. But beneath that—
Her senses spread outward.
Listening.
Feeling.
Measuring.
The floor beneath her boots was polished, but she could tell it had been repaired more than once. The walls carried paintings—landscapes, portraits, old battles—but something about them felt… off.
Too aligned.
Too evenly spaced.
Her eyes flickered once.
Not decoration.
Cover.
