CHAPTER 66 — WHEN THE HOUSE HOLDS ITS BREATH The house felt like it was waiting. Not resting—waiting. Sienna noticed it in the way the corridors echoed too loudly, in how the staff moved with eyes downcast and mouths tight, like they were afraid sound itself might summon something awful. Even the clocks seemed hesitant, their ticks uneven, as though time had learned caution. She hadn’t slept. Not properly. She lay on Damien’s bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling while the memory of the gunshot replayed itself in fragments—her grip, the recoil, the sudden stillness afterward. Every time her eyelids drooped, her body jolted awake again, muscles coiling as if danger might rise from the shadows at any moment. At some point, Damien returned. She didn’t hear him enter. She only felt the weight shift beside her, the mattress dipping slightly, his presence settling in like gravity. “You’re shaking,” he murmured. “I’m not,” she lied. His hand brushed her arm—light, testing. Sh
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