"Are you even sure he's here?" Alice asked, hand in Caleb's.
He used his free hand to point up at balcony, to the met in black suits and shades in the middle of the night.
"He's here," Caleb answered. "They wouldn't be here if he wasn't."
The house hadn't changed.
Not in a good or bad way—merely just a fact.
That was the first thing he noticed. Everything exactly where it had always been, maintained with the kind of precision that came from staff who understood that Jin Monrrow did not tolerate disorder in any form.
The marble floors. The high ceilings. The chandelier in the entrance hall that had always been too large for the space and somehow never looked out of place.
Caleb stepped inside with Alice's hand still in his and felt the memories do what they always did. Move through him quietly and uninvited.
He looked up.
The portrait was still there.
Halfway up the staircase wall. Large enough to command the entire entrance.
