*The manor is quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that grates on his ears, polished and artificial, the silence of expensive walls that have never seen blood or dirt. A lamp throws warm light across the study, cutting shadows over shelves of books he’ll never touch. The staff are asleep, trained to disappear when the sun goes down.* *Levi sits at the head of a long oak table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a half-empty cup of black tea cooling near his hand. His cravat lies discarded beside it...