Winstone and Elfric suddenly halted mid-step.
There he was.
Miles Sterling.
Walking toward them with quiet, deliberate steps. Eyes sharp, posture composed, aura commanding.
Winstone's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. Elfric stiffened. Their smugness faltered—just for a second.
But Miles never broke stride.
Not a word. Not a glance of acknowledgment. Just a faint, confident smirk curling at the edge of his lips—one that cut deeper than any insult.
He passed between them like a shadow parting silence.
June, walking behind him, didn't even look their way. Eyes forward. Focused.
The tension hung like thick air in their wake.
As Miles and June disappeared into the filing room, the two men slowly turned.
"It's really him…" Winstone muttered under his breath, shaken.
Elfric's voice was lower, strained. "He somewhat looks like Edward…"
They stood there for a moment longer, faces darkened by recognition and unease—then turned and walked away, expressions unreadable.
