The tension in the dining room was almost tangible, like an invisible thread tightening around the throats of everyone present.
No one spoke much, and yet the air was filled with whispers, with glances that said more than words, with smiles hiding dangerous thoughts.
The glasses clinked softly, the sound of cutlery a distant echo amid held breaths and the slight creaking of chairs.
Eliza felt it, that kind of energy cannot be disguised. It was the exact mixture of diplomacy and desire, of power and threat. The kind of tension that precedes a fire. She had found herself in situations like this before and knew that nothing good would come of it.
Madison, seated a few places away, was so rigid she looked carved from marble. Her fingers clung to the tablecloth with the force of someone afraid of losing control, and her chest barely rose and fell.
Eliza didn't take long to discover the reason.
