Nanny B's POV
The sound of the security shutters descending over the glass walls of the Iron Nest was a mechanical growl—a sound that signaled the end of our brief, fragile peace.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
With every notch the steel plates dropped, the golden afternoon light of the San Francisco coast was swallowed, replaced by the dim, artificial glow of the villa's emergency lights. To the Master, it was a tactical necessity. To me? It was a reminder of how quickly a home can become a fortress.
