Chapter 46 The Safehouse

• The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of gray and pale rose. It was the kind of morning that should have promised serenity, but serenity had long since abandoned the Blackwood estate. The air was restless, the halls vibrating with the low hum of preparation, the weight of a war that hadn’t yet arrived but pressed closer with every second.
• Ivy awoke not because of the gentle touch of morning but because of the noise—the quiet footsteps of guards in the corridor, the sharp sound of weapons being checked, the rustle of duffel bags heavy with ammunition. Her body ached from the chaos of the gala, from the bruises left by Lucia’s hands, from the nights of tension that never allowed true rest. Yet when she sat up, there was no weakness in her movements. Fatigue was a luxury she could not afford.
• The dress from the night before lay discarded in the corner, a torn relic of survival. Ivy dressed in black instead—Damien’s world seemed to demand that shade, as though it were a uniform, a reminder that death and shadows walked hand in hand. She chose a simple blouse and trousers, her hair tied back tightly, her lips bare of paint. She wanted no softness, nothing that could be mistaken for vulnerability.