Later that evening, the dining hall of House Garcia felt colder than usual, not because of the weather, but because of the silence that sat between everyone like an invisible guest that refused to leave.
The long table was filled the way it always was during formal family dinners, with polished silverware aligned with precision, candles burning steadily in tall holders, and servants moving in the background with such quiet discipline that even their footsteps seemed to apologize for existing.
Rael sat beside Eon and Artaigne, their shoulders close enough that it felt like an unspoken pact, while across the table, Raphael sat with their stepmother, his posture straight, his expression unreadable, and his gaze calm in the way that made him look like he belonged more to a battlefield than to a family dinner.
Aurelius sat at the head of the table, his presence alone enough to control the room, and yet even he seemed to notice how stiff the air had become.
