Dinner that night was quiet in a way that felt intentional.
Not uncomfortable but curated.
The long table had been set for only two, candles burning low, their flames steady and obedient. Plates of food steamed gently between us, the scent rich and warm, meant to comfort.
Wine caught the light like dark rubies in crystal goblets.
My father sat across from me, composed as always. Calm. Measured. As though nothing in the world truly surprised him.
"How was your training today?" he asked casually, lifting his glass.
I paused, fingers tightening briefly around my cutlery.
"It was… fine," I said after a moment.
Not a lie. Not the truth either.
He nodded, as if he had expected exactly that answer.
"The elders gave me their report," he said, taking a slow sip of wine. "They're encouraged."
I glanced up. "Encouraged?"
