Morning settled over the mansion with a quiet that felt staged, like the house itself knew something delicate and dangerous was moving beneath its walls. The sun pushed thin streaks of gold through the tall windows of the dining room, but the warmth never reached the table.
Adrian sat at the head, always the head, hands resting loosely on the armrests of the ornate chair. His posture was relaxed, composed, but there was a stillness beneath the surface that could make stone uneasy.
Stephen and a few men lined the room behind him, standing silently like statues carved to guard their king. Derek sat at the long table already, eating a banana like he had nothing in the world to take seriously. His presence was noise in a room that demanded quiet.
Dante returned from upstairs.
The man stood stiffly, as if trying to hide the fact that he wasn't sure how to deliver the report.
Adrian lifted his gaze, slow, controlled, like the act of looking was a decision, not instinct.
