A grand, polished black carriage pulled up to Matilda's house, its ornate gold trim glinting in the fading light. The wheels, freshly oiled, came to a silent stop on the gravel drive. The matched pair of sleek, dark horses stood perfectly still, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.
The carriage door swung open, and Gustavo emerged first, his scarred face impassive as he surveyed the surroundings. He stepped aside, allowing Lord Blackthorn to exit.
Blackthorn's face was a mask of cool indifference as he stepped down from the carriage. He wore a long, black overcoat that seemed to absorb the remaining light of the day. His hand moved to stroke his neatly trimmed beard, a gesture that belied the tension in his rigid posture.
Without a word exchanged between them, Blackthorn strode towards the house, Gustavo falling into step behind him. The silence that enveloped them was heavy with unspoken purpose.
