The Hale dining room stretched long and formal, with a polished oak table that could easily seat a dozen. Tonight, only five chairs were filled: Daniel at the head, Eliana at his right, Franklyn across from her, and two distant cousins visiting for the week — Clara and Harold, who seemed more interested in the wine than in conversation.
Candles burned low, casting golden light across the silverware. Plates clinked, cutlery scraped. Daniel kept the chatter alive, recounting some half-funny story about a deal gone sideways, his laughter booming in the cavernous room.
Franklyn smiled where he had to, nodded where expected. But his eyes betrayed him.
Every so often, he looked up — and there she was.
Eliana, across the table, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the flicker of the
