They crossed the threshold together.
The house was quieter than Alina had ever described it, and yet every wall seemed to hum with memory. The wide hearth stood cold. Sunlight spilled through the high windows, catching dust motes that drifted lazily through the air like ghosts too tired to haunt.
Casius stopped just inside the doorway.
He didn’t move farther in.
Lucian noticed immediately.
“So this is it,” Casius said quietly. His voice was steady, but his hands weren’t. “She described it to me a thousand times. The stairs that creak. The window that catches the morning light. The kitchen table with the burn mark from when Aaron knocked over a candle as a boy.”
He swallowed.
Hard.
“I always thought I’d recognize it when I saw it,” he continued. “But I didn’t expect it to feel like
