Mattie Love offered the rose to the nearest figure, its crimson mirroring the stain spreading across the stone. He reached for it, his movements slow, deliberate. Not a plea, but an expectation. More were gathering, drawn by the scent of life—or what remained of it. She’d promised them a queen, and she would deliver. The stained glass cast eerie shadows as they closed in, their vacant eyes fixed on her. A silent coronation was about to begin. But who had called for this ritual? And why did the mirror reflect not her face, but an empty room?