"Did you honestly believe I would not notice the shift in your behavior, Gillian?" Klara’s voice cut through the air like a serrated blade, shattering the fragile peace of the dining hall.
Gillian remained seated at the head of the heavy oak table, his gaze fixed on the plate before him. The atmosphere in the Mourning Manor, usually defined by a cold and clinical silence, felt strained tonight. Ghea sat a few seats down, her posture stiff, eyes cast downward as she picked at the meal she had prepared. Gillian had just offered a low, gruff compliment regarding the seasoning of the roast, a departure from his usual habit of ignoring the culinary efforts of the household staff.
The manor was large, echoing with the ghosts of past violence and current secrets. Outside, the wind rattled th
