The scent of rain-washed stone and cold tea was all that filled the air in the small, traditional annex. Jiyeon, her hands folded tightly in her lap, didn’t need to look up to know Elias was watching her. His gaze, usually a calm, unreadable ocean, felt like a burning shoreline tonight.

A silence had been brewing between them since the incident by the wishing well—a silence heavier than the hundred-year-old masonry of the estate. The truth of what she’d seen—the silver light, the impossible speed, the fear that had flashed and vanished in his eyes—was a jagged piece of glass she couldn’t swallow or spit out.