The heavy door shut behind the last council member, sealing the chamber in a silence that felt brittle and cold. The echo of footsteps faded down the hall until there was nothing left but the slow crackle of tension settling into the old stone walls. Aria remained seated beside Luca, barely breathing, letting the quiet stretch between them without rushing to break it.
Luca stayed standing, reminiscing over what just happened in that hall.
He was still as a statue, hands braced on the edge of the table, shoulders rigid beneath the black fabric of his shirt. The posture was familiar, the stance of a man holding the weight of the world on his back. But this morning, something about it felt different. He was not just carrying responsibility. He was carrying grief. Guilt. Fury held down by sheer will.
Aria watched the subtle tremor in his fingers. A man like Luca DeLuca did not tremble unless the world beneath him had shifted too violently for even him to control.
