Elena
She didn't speak for the first twenty minutes.
The mana-stone car hummed beneath her like a caged beast, silent except for the faint sizzle of arcane coils and the sound of Kenneth's pen scratching against parchment.
Elena sat in the back seat, arms wrapped around her bruised ribs, wrists rubbed raw and bleeding from the shackles Lee had finally removed.
Her dress hung in tatters — once navy linen, now smoke-stained and torn. Her hair was matted to her temple. She did not feel rescued.
She felt… purchased.
"You were there when he asked for me," she said finally.
Kenneth's eyes didn't leave the ledger. "Yes."
"Why?"
"He's the Viscount of Puerto Cuidad. He doesn't ask for things lightly."
"That's not an answer."
Kenneth sighed — a man accustomed to silence, now burdened with fragile truth. He looked up.
"The Church and House Matteo have worked closely together for generations. Frankly speaking, the Viscount always gets what he wants. Always."
Elena paled.
"Why would he want someone like me?"
Kenneth didn't blink. "Because when my Lord saw you at Inferno, he said—'she burns like the first spell ever cast.'" With a half snort he turns back to his ledger. "You brawled, bedded, and enchanted the biggest rake in the territories. The Viscount always gets what he wants."
Elena turned her face to the window.
The car turned off the main roads, wheels grinding over gravel and moss.
She saw it then.
WindSwept Manor.
The estate loomed on the eastern cliffs, framed by violent sea and wind. Its windows were tall and black. Ivy crawled up the stones like veins. The sky above boiled with slate-colored clouds, ready to storm.
It was not a house. It was a statement.
A warning.
A refuge.
Or a trap.
The car pulled up the circular drive. Servants moved with ghostlike efficiency. Elena stepped out into salt air and wind, her skirts snapping behind her like wings. She felt unsteady.
Then the door opened.
And there he was.
Seamus Matteo.