Julian sits at the head of the dining table meant for six.
Only one place is set.
The overhead light casts a sharp white circle over polished wood, illuminating empty chairs like witnesses. His glass of water rests untouched at his right hand. The silverware lies parallel, aligned by habit, though no one else will use it.
The room is not loud.
It never was.
He listens anyway.
No distant music from the sitting room. No soft cadence of footsteps crossing marble. No muted rustle of fabric as someone shifts in a chair.
Just the low hum of climate control and the faint ticking of the antique clock mounted near the hallway.
He shifts in his seat. The scrape of wood against tile sounds intrusive.
The table was designed for negotiation dinners. Political allies. Donors. Extended family du
