The invitation came the next morning. Hand-delivered.
Cream-colored, with a single wax seal bearing the Marlowe family crest—a wolf, staring at the moon.
No location.
Just a time.
8:00 PM. Tonight.
Come alone.
Lina turned the envelope over three times, but it held no answers. Only a silence that buzzed with something weightier than nerves.
By evening, a car came to pick her up—sleek, black, no driver visible behind the tinted glass. Lina didn't ask questions.
She dressed in dark tones, soft fabric, no jewelry. Somehow, it felt right. Like walking into something sacred—or dangerous.
The car drove deep into the hills outside the city, past winding trees and silent iron gates. At last, it stopped in front of an estate older than any photograph.
Stone walls. Gas lamps. A sky that stretched too wide.
A man in a black coat waited on the steps.
He looked like a myth.
Kael's grandfather.
He greeted her with a nod. No smile, no chill—just a presence that swallowed the air.
"You're quieter than I expected," he said as they walked through the old halls.
"I can be loud, too," Lina replied softly. "When I need to be."
"Good. Women who are only loud get eaten. Women who are only quiet get erased. Balance is where power begins."
She didn't know whether to thank him or run.
They entered a study that looked like it hadn't changed in fifty years. Shelves of leather books. A globe with faded maps. And on the wall—framed photos of Kael, none recent.
"He was a sweet boy once," the old man said, pouring two cups of tea. "Too soft. Too curious."
Lina said nothing.
He sipped his drink.
"Then his parents died. And everything soft in him… hardened."
Her heart clenched. "You raised him?"
"I trained him. Not the same thing."
"…Why are you telling me this?"
He looked at her for a long time.
Then said, "Because Kael hasn't let anyone in for a decade. And last night… he looked alive."
Lina swallowed hard.
"I'm not trying to fix him."
"I hope not. He doesn't need fixing. Just someone brave enough to stay."
Later, when the fire had died low and the tea had gone cold, he handed her a faded photograph.
It was Kael, much younger—maybe fourteen. Standing alone in the snow, hands in his coat, face still and distant even then.
"I keep this to remind myself," the grandfather said. "That power comes at a cost."
Lina didn't know what to say.
But something in her ached.
Back at her apartment, hours later, she found a message waiting on her door:
From Kael.
I didn't ask him to speak to you. But I'm glad he did.
If you still want to walk away, now's the time.
Because I won't be able to stop myself from falling for you after this.
She read the message twice.
Then three more times.
Then, slowly, carefully, she typed her reply.
Too late.