"Not just me," he said flatly, his voice steady and unshaken. "To be clear, we're leaving."
Ethan's words cut through the thick air like a blade—bold, unbothered by the rising tension that seemed to hover like a storm cloud over the room. There was no fear in his tone, only a cold finality that dared anyone to challenge him.
At that moment, his eyes caught Mason's subtle shift—just a small curl at the corner of his lips, a smirk laced with menace.
Slowly, Mason dipped his head toward the plate in front of him, grasping the spoon with an eerie calm. Then, with measured defiance, he began to scrape it deliberately against the ceramic, the grating sound piercing through the silence like a warning siren. It wasn't just noise—it was a message. A calculated performance.
