After finishing his meal, Ryan didn’t return to his room.
Instead, he remained in the living room, he sat on one of the armchairs that was positioned slightly away from the center. The mansion was quiet in that particular way that came only late in the evening. The kind of silence that made every small sound feel louder than it should be. The distant ticking of a clock. The occasional footstep of a house worker passing down a corridor.
He rested his elbows lightly on his knees with his hands clasped together, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. Waiting. He knew he wouldn’t be waiting long. Amelia Wilfred was not the kind of woman who delayed things she considered important, and the way she had mentioned the “discussion” earlier told him it wasn’t something casual. Still, the waiting
