Chapter 26

• Narrator's POV
• The Luave estate was quiet that night, wrapped in the kind of silence that could suffocate a man if he listened too long. The marble halls that once echoed with voices and footsteps now stood still, the weight of legacy pressing into the air.
• In his private study, Ivan Luave sat behind his broad oak desk, the surface littered with papers he had no intention of reading. A single lamp cast golden light across his silver hair and the etched lines on his face, each mark carved from years of battles—some fought with blades, others with words. His hand cradled a glass of aged brandy, its warmth doing little to chase away the unease gnawing at him.