The emergency lights flickered overhead as Vale stepped through the ruined hall.
The west wing was smoke and silence, the broken chandelier still swinging like a pendulum from hell. But Vale didn't flinch. He walked through the wreckage like it was a garden path.
In his hand: a music box.
Not broken.
Not burned.
Carefully, he wound it once.
The delicate notes of an old lullaby creaked into the air — faint, eerie.
"Do you remember this, Emilia?" he whispered, to no one.
Then he turned to the shadows.
"She does," he said. "And she'll know what it means."
A figure stepped out of the dark.
"It's done," the woman said. "The decoy routes are burning. Calla's tracking the wrong trail."
Vale's eyes gleamed. "And Damien?"
"Still breathing. But not for long."
---
Back in the vault, Emilia stirred.
She froze.
The music.
Soft, faint — impossible. But she knew that sound.
Damien's head snapped up too.
"What is that?" he whispered.
Emilia's voice was tight. "My childhood lullaby."
Damien's jaw locked.
"He's baiting you."
She shook her head slowly. "No. He's calling me."
---
In that moment, she understood something terrifying.
This wasn't a game of love and war.
It was something older. More sacred.
Vale didn't want to destroy her.
He wanted to own her.
And Damien? Damien had just stepped into the center of a centuries-old madness.
Emilia grabbed Damien's hand.
"No more running," she said.
His eyes flickered.
"No more hiding," he agreed.
---
Above them, the lullaby played.
And somewhere deeper in the estate…
the devil smiled.