The chamber was steeped in shadow, the flickering candlelight casting uneven glows on the stone walls. The heirs sat in their usual places, their conversations low and measured, the air thick with tension. At the head of the table stood Tom Riddle, his presence commanding even in silence.

The creak of the door drew every gaze sharply upward, the sound reverberating in the stillness. A figure stepped into the room, her silhouette outlined by the faint light spilling in from the corridor. There was something arresting about her presence—a quiet, unspoken authority that seemed to ripple through the air as she crossed the threshold. Her steps were unhurried but deliberate, the faint glint of a Dark Mark visible beneath the cuff of her sleeve.

A moment of silence followed her arrival, the weight of her presence settling over the room. Draco’s sharp features tightened, a flicker of confusion breaking his usual composure. Blaise sat back in his chair, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if attempting to unravel a mystery. Mattheo’s lips twitched into an intrigued smirk, his gaze lingering, while Theodore’s posture stiffened, his hand instinctively brushing against his wand.

The girl paused near the center of the room, her gaze sweeping across the faces before her, unreadable yet intense. There was no need for explanation; the way Tom watched her, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips, was answer enough. He had been waiting for her.