By early afternoon, the Shephard estate had taken on a quieter, more formal atmosphere. The long oak-paneled hallway leading to the sitting room had been dusted, the chandelier above polished to a soft gleam. Everything was in place, but there was an undeniable edge of anticipation humming through the house.
Steve sat upright on the velvet couch, legs slightly trembling, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. Mara sat beside him, composed but alert, notebook in hand. Stanley leaned against the mantel, arms crossed, his eyes watchful. Stefan stood by the window, only half-present, eyes flicking occasionally to his phone as if he expected it to buzz again.
Mara rose and opened the door.
"Professor Arlen," she greeted warmly, stepping aside to let the tall, gray-haired man in. His wire-framed glasses caught the light, but his smile was gentle and sincere.
