The clatter of silver cutleries against fine porcelain was the only sound echoing through the expansive dining hall, yet the silence in the room was suffocating, heavy with an agonizing, unspoken tension.
At the long table, the seating arrangement felt like a battlefield drawn with invisible lines. Dahmer sat near the head of the table, his imposing frame radiating a calm, untouchable authority, while Malcolm sat directly beside him. Beside Malcolm, the space felt warm, but the subtle, protective aura Dahmer cast around his mate was unmistakable. Further down the right side of the table sat Marcus and Kaelan, both eating in complete, cautious silence, their eyes darting nervously between the head of the table and the far end. And at that far end—isolated, rigid, and completely cut off from the rest—sat Joveline.
