What the fuck?
My heart slammed once, hard.
Hiro disappeared around the corner.
Seconds stretched.
Then another few.
Then another.
The silence grew teeth.
Finally, Hiro reappeared, expression composed but eyes sharper than before. “There’s nothing.”
My voice came out low. “That was odd.”
“Yes.” He scanned the walls again. “The twins made sure the suite was clear before we arrived, but. . .”
I stepped closer. “But what?”
“This mansion has tons of servant passageways. Hidden halls. Secret entrances and exits meant for staff to move through the building unseen. So they don’t bother us.”
A cold thread slid down my spine. “So. . .someone could be in here without us knowing?”
Hiro’s gaze locked on mine. “Don’t worry. I will know if someone decides to sneak in here while we are here too.”
He said it with confidence.
But not certainty.
And that tiny difference made every hair on my arms lift.
He gestured to the room. “Check the space.”
A cold shiver ran up my spine.
I swallowed and looked around.
The shared living room spread before me, and my breath caught.
The walls were painted in deep, layered twilight—bruised purples bleeding into midnight blues, touched with veins of molten gold that caught the moonlight streaming through all of the tall windows. The effect was breathtaking, like standing inside the sky just before dawn breaks or just after dusk swallows the sun.
A large couch in deep forest-green velvet dominated the center. A matching armchair angled toward the windows. The coffee table had curved edges and delicate legs carved from dark wood.
But it was the paintings that stopped me cold.
Wow.
Massive oil paintings, again. . .museum-quality. Each one was easily six feet tall and hung in ornate frames carved from dark wood and edged in hammered gold. They lined the walls like windows into another world.
With my phone raised, I moved closer to the first one.
The painting showed a massive dragon mid-flight against a star-scattered sky. Scales painted in layers of black obsidian and fused with burnished gold. The wings were stretched wide and veined in gold.
The dragon's eyes—molten, burning, alive—stared down at something below with pure hunger.
The brushwork was masterful. I could see individual scales, the texture of those leathery wings, the way smoke curled from the dragon's nostrils.
