Elion closed Raelynn's door softly, his fingers lingering on the handle for a moment before he exhaled and stepped back. The warmth of her presence still clung to him—the way she had looked at him when he had wished their child goodnight, the soft rise and fall of her breath as she drifted into sleep. It was grounding, a tether to something he never thought he would have.
Yet, instead of returning to his room, his feet took him elsewhere.
Silent as a phantom, he moved through the darkened halls, his steps measured, deliberate. The mansion at night was a different world—shadows stretched along the marble floors, the chandeliers above were unlit, and the only light came from the moon filtering through the towering windows.
Elion reached his study and pushed the door open. The scent of aged books and polished wood greeted him, familiar and unchanged. But unlike other nights, he didn't go to his desk. Instead, his gaze settled on the grand bookshelf lining the far wall.
