Gideon’s POV

The scent of smoke hit me first.

Not the usual kind from the fireplace—but sharp, angry. Burning wood and velvet. I was halfway down the hall when Marcus’s voice rang out.

“Gideon! The east wing!”

I bolted, following the flicker of orange against the dark walls. Flames licked up the curtains near the main staircase, racing across the rug and climbing the edges of a portrait I hadn’t moved in a ...