Carmen’s POV

I woke to the sound of footsteps. Not the distant, familiar rhythm of guards changing shifts or the muted patrols that had become part of the mansion’s nighttime breathing—but hurried steps. Urgent. Too many at once.

Voices followed. Low. Sharp. Controlled but unmistakably tense. My eyes flew open. For half a second, I didn’t know where I was.

Then the weight of the room came crashing back—the thick curtains, the locked doors, the knowledge that someone had died inside ...