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She regarded me with open curiosity. There was no intimidation in it, no attempt to impress me, none of the deference I had expected from people meeting me for the first time. The absence of it was refreshing.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” she said.

I inclined my head. “I suspect I should be thanking you. Project Aurora will change what is possible within these walls.”

That last remark earned the briefest flicker of amusement before she lowered her gaze, as though the conversation was heading somewhere she had no interest in following. The instinct to turn attention away from herself had not changed.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” she said, looking around. “The Opera House, the gardens, the laboratories. Any of it, really.”

“You came here expecting a research institute.”

“And instead?” she asked.

“You found Blackwood Hall.”

She considered that for a moment. I watched the way she did it, giving my answer the same careful attention she had given every question at the conference four years ago. I had to pull myself back to the conversation. It was a difficulty I wasn’t accustomed to.

“I think I’m still trying to decide what Blackwood Hall actually is,” she said.

“That usually takes people longer than a morning.” There was not enough time before us for me to answer the question properly. But I had accounted for that already.

“Before we discuss Project Aurora,” I said, “I’d like to show you the parts of Blackwood Hall that weren’t included in your orientation.”

“The conservatory?”

“Yes, among other places,” I said. A small thrill of anticipation moved through me.

I crossed to the door and held it open. She passed by close enough that I caught her scent. It was clean and warm, with a hint of flowers, there one second and gone the next. I did not step back to give her room. She made no move to widen it either.

“Margaret introduced you to the Institute,” I said. “The rest of the day was always mine.”

A flicker of surprise crossed her face before it gave way to something softer.

“Now you’ve made me curious, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Please, call me Alexander.”

Chapter 5

Emilia

The rest of the day was always mine. The words echoed in my mind. Mr. Blackwood—Alexander, I reminded myself—spoke like he had put a lot of thought into our next few hours together.

Every article I had read about him described him as equal parts billionaire and architect, while making him sound almost like an urban legend. The photographs reinforced that impression. They captured a man who was entirely at ease with power and uninterested in making anyone else comfortable.

The man beside me bore only a passing resemblance to that image. He was no less impressive than the articles had suggested, but there was an ease to him I had not expected. I couldn’t quite reconcile the two as we stepped outside. For several moments, neither of us spoke. Ordinarily, I would have felt obligated to fill the silence. With Alexander, it felt strangely comfortable. As we walked, I glanced at him more often than was necessary.

“Where are we going first?” I asked.

“I’d like to start with the conservatory. After a morning spent in the Institute, I thought you might enjoy seeing the quieter corners of Blackwood Hall.”

I nodded. “Do you spend much time there?”

“Yes, particularly during storms. I like the sound of the rain hitting the glass and the lightning reflecting through the windows. I’ve always thought Blackwood was at its best in weather like that.”

A smile tugged at my mouth. “I used to love listening to storms as a child. There was something about listening to rain beneath glass that always made the world feel quieter.”

Alexander stopped walking. When I turned toward him, his expression had softened, as though the image I’d given him had caught him by surprise.