Quiet settles into the house now that the party is done, yet something lingers. A trace of motion stays behind, like echoes of music clinging to cold walls long after silence returns. Restless energy runs through me without warning. The weight of too many glances burns under my skin again, along with Christian’s twisted expression, sharp and unkind. Heat flashes at the thought of Noah’s palm pressed against me, firm and impossible to forget. His words return - low, steady, edged with threat - as though spoken just seconds ago.Out there, beyond four walls, a path waits. Walking pulls me forward, away from the chair I’ve worn down. The yard feels like a cage now. Step by step, streets offer something else.A small nod comes from Mrs. Greyson after I mention wanting to see the first-level rooms. Down the eastern hall, she tells me, hang the ancestor pictures - those ones can be looked at, apparently without issue. Her voice makes it sound like allowing eyes on canvas is some kind of fav
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