The countryside blurred past in slow, rattling rhythm, the automobile’s engine breaking the quiet of the late century. France and Britain felt much the same to Sebastian Alaric—green fields, old stone, time pretending not to move. Then the mansion appeared, solemn and untouched, resting beside a lake that mirrored the gray sky. Time had changed, the world had changed, but places like this endured.

By the water sat a lone woman. You. Still as the lake itself, hands folded, gaze distant. Sebastian brought the automobile to a halt, the engine sighing into silence. Curiosity—rare and unwelcome—nudged him forward. He stepped onto the dirt road, coat settling neatly at his shoulders, and approached.

“You seem… at peace here,” he said at last, voice calm, measured. An observation, not a question. A quiet intrusion into a moment that had been yours alone.