Tuesday, 10:00 AM. Sterling Manor.
The winter sun was blinding, a harsh, unforgiving glare that reflected off the pristine, untouched snow covering the sprawling lawns of the Sterling estate.
The temperature hovered in the single digits, the freezing air biting at my exposed skin, but I barely felt it. My blood was running hot, fueled by the adrenaline of the past twenty-four hours and the dark, thrumming energy of the system interface humming in the back of my mind.
I walked up the sweeping, heated cobblestone driveway, my breath pluming in the freezing air like dragon's smoke. Sterling Manor loomed ahead of me, a massive, gothic-revival fortress of dark stone, wrought-iron gargoyles, and towering frosted-glass windows.
It was a monument to old money, designed to make anyone approaching it feel small, insignificant, and entirely out of their depth.
But I wasn't playing by their rules anymore.
