Emily had always loved the grand foyer, loved the way morning light poured through the tall windows and scattered into rainbows across the marble floor whenever it caught the chandelier's countless crystals just right. Seven months pregnant now, she found herself drawn to that particular spot most mornings, one hand resting instinctively against her stomach, savoring a few minutes of peace before the household woke fully around her. She had no reason to suspect danger. The mansion had always felt safe to her, solid and unchanging, the kind of place where nothing truly unexpected ever happened. Rosa, meanwhile, had been part of the household staff for nearly three years, quiet and diligent, the kind of employee who noticed details most people walked straight past without a second glance. That particular morning, carrying a stack of fresh linens across the foyer toward the upstairs bedrooms, something made her glance upward entirely on instinct — perhaps a faint creak, perhaps simply the practiced awareness of someone who paid close attention to her surroundings. What she saw sent ice through her veins. The massive chain suspending the crystal chandelier was swaying slightly, subtly wrong in a way that made her stomach drop instantly. She had no time to call for help, no time to warn anyone through proper channels, no time to do anything except react on pure instinct. The linens fell from her arms, scattering across the polished floor as she broke into a full sprint toward Emily, her mind racing through the horrifying calculation of distance and time. She reached Emily with barely a second to spare, every instinct in her body screaming that hesitation now would cost a life, possibly two.