I press my thumb against the ring, testing it. It doesn't give way. Solid. Metal. Real.
What have I done?
The gates appear before I'm ready for them.
Tall. Iron. Imposing in a way that doesn't try to be welcoming.
They swing open slowly, revealing a long driveway that curves through manicured grounds. Trees line the path, their branches arching overhead like a tunnel.
The house—no, the estate—rises into view.
Stone. Glass. Sharp lines softened by ivy crawling up one side. It's beautiful in the way museums are beautiful. Admired from a distance. Not lived in.
The SUV turns toward his house, the gates, the grounds that most people wouldn't believe are still part of Firth City.
The grand entrance. An actual butler stands by the front door at attention.
There's no turning back.
As the gates open for us, my old life closes behind me.
