Lyra and Xhi moved swiftly through the labyrinthine corridors of Cross Manor, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished stone floors.
Around each bend and corner, the distant sound of voices—some panicked, others simply curious—grew louder.
The noise from the shattering windows had clearly stirred the manor to life. By now, the house guards were undoubtedly mobilizing.
Given the intensity of the impact, it would have been a miracle if they weren't.
The reason no one had arrived sooner was simple: the room they had just left, like most within the Cross family estate, was soundproof.
Silence was a foundational principle of the Cross household—woven into their magic, embedded into their discipline, and eventually etched deep into their habits.
For generations, quietude had been both a shield and a weapon, revered as a pillar of control.
Which was precisely why Lyra had always stood out. Too loud, too curious, too alive.
