#Chapter 121: Back to the Pack House

The Pack House didn’t look like home anymore. Ash streaked along the marble floors where fire had licked through the east wing. Glass crunched under my boots, every step ringing in the hollow silence. The air smelled of wet smoke, as if the stone itself had absorbed the fire. Staff moved through the halls with plywood and plaster, voices kept low. Above us, sections of the vaulted ceiling hung open, beams exposed like ribs. Paint blistered from the walls in strange shapes, curling like old parchment. The grand chandelier that had once hung in the atrium lay shattered in pieces, its crystal prisms scattered across the floor like teeth. Richard walked beside me without a word. His silence pressed heavier than the dust. His eyes lingered on the destruction, his jaw tight, the cords of his neck visible. I could feel his thoughts working behind that mask of control, though he gave me nothing. At the library corridor, collapsed shelves lay across the floor, books swollen and ruined. As