The Moonlit Sanctuary

For the next week, the Obsidian Estate existed in a state of strangled terror. Lady Hesper played the role of the grieving widow and perfect hostess, her laughter tinkling like breaking glass while she practiced her dark arts in the basement.

Elias was assigned as Alistair’s personal valet—a move Hesper intended as a slight to the Arbiter, but one that Elias viewed as a slow-motion execution. Every time he straightened Alistair’s cravat or polished his boots, he feared the man would sense the silver collar beneath his shirt and realize the depth of the corruption.

Yet, Alistair was different from the other nobles. He was arrogant, yes—analytical to the point of coldness—but he was never cruel.

On the third night, Elias found himself unable to sleep in the sweltering heat of the servant’s attic. He crept down to the Moonlit Greenhouse, the only place on the grounds where the plants grew without the aid of blood-magic.

He sat among the bioluminescent ferns, their soft blue light reflecting in his tired eyes.

"The *Lumina Digitalis* only blooms for those with a quiet spirit," a voice said from the shadows.

Elias jumped, nearly knocking over a pot of star-lilies. Alistair was sitting on a stone bench, a leather-bound journal open on his lap. He wasn't wearing his formal cloak, and in the soft blue light, he looked younger, less like a judge and more like a man burdened by the weight of his office.

"I apologize, my Lord," Elias said, bowing low. "I did not mean to intrude."

"Sit," Alistair commanded, though it lacked its usual frost. "The house is loud tonight. Lady Hesper’s tea party left a residue of envy that is giving me a migraine."

Elias hesitated, then sat at the far end of the bench. "Envy is hard to scrub out. It sticks to the drapes."

Alistair looked at him, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "You speak as if you’ve been cleaning the intangible your entire life."

"In this house, I have," Elias replied before he could stop himself.

They sat in silence for a long time, the only sound the rustle of the glowing ferns. Alistair watched the way the blue light caught on Elias’s profile.

"You have a name, don't you?" Alistair asked. "Beyond 'Shadow' or 'Boy'?"

"Elias," he whispered.

Alistair’s hand tightened on his journal. "Elias. A name of light. It suits you." He stood up, looking out through the glass walls at the dark Pacific Northwest forest. "Be careful, Elias. The Law of Rebound is absolute. When a house is this full of stagnant debt, the snapback is often violent. Do not be caught in the middle of it."

"I am the middle of it, my Lord," Elias thought as Alistair walked away, but the words stayed locked behind his silver collar.