Estelle sat in the back of the SUV like something forgotten, like something already mourned.
The engine cut off with a low hum, but she didn't react, didn't even blink. The world outside the tinted glass felt distant, silent, like she was watching it from underwater.
The Whitehall mansion loomed ahead, all stone and glass and cold perfection.
Home. No… her cage.
Up on the second-floor landing, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows, Magnus stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting, watching with a satisfied smirk on his face as the SUV rolled to a stop beneath him.
Right on schedule. He watched the driver step out, circle the vehicle, and open the rear door. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Estelle appeared, folded into the driver's arms, small, boneless. Her head lolled slightly against his shoulder as he carried her out of the vehicle and lowered her gently into the wheelchair.
