The words hung heavy.
Noah shook his head, unusually sober. "Kid like that doesn't deserve sympathy. Drugs, stolen cars, almost killing Arabella? If you ask me, fate was merciful to him. Too merciful."
"He's dead now," Victor continued, matter-of-fact. "Passed two days ago in the hospital. His parents are begging for sympathy. But they'll get none from me."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Rex felt it… a collective bristling, not grief but anger that hardened everyone's expressions. Not one face showed pity. Not even Eleanor, who had sighed moments ago about "two families broken." That compassion was fleeting, replaced by something more guarded, protective, tribal.
Even Vivienne, usually reserved, let a faint bitterness slip into her voice. "His recklessness nearly destroyed lives that night. If Rex hadn't been there…" She trailed off, the thought unfinished but clear enough to chill the table.
