The room held its breath.
Benjamin's gaze lingered on the curve of Azazel's arm around his daughter, on the quiet stillness of his posture. His jaw remained tight, but the sharp edge in his eyes had dulled.
Theresa's hand, still pressed against her chest, trembled as she blinked back the swell of tears threatening to spill.
Neither spoke.
The silence stretched, heavy but not suffocating. It was not the silence of accusation, but of something unspoken settling between them.
Azazel didn't move, didn't defend himself. He simply remained where he was, holding Ava with a reverence that asked for nothing but trust.
Theresa's eyes softened. Her lips parted as though she might say something, but then she pressed them together again.
Instead, she reached out, her hand brushing lightly against Benjamin's arm.
A silent signal.
