Dylan’s p.o.v.
The delicate clink of crystal glasses and the murmur of low conversation filled the elegant hall, mingling with the occasional outburst of laughter from the nobles who had gathered for the unveiling of Luca’s newest aged wine. The air smelled of aged oak, fruit, and luxury—a combination that suited my old friend perfectly.
I stood near the far end of the room, detached from the lively discussions and clinking toasts. My fingers lazily rolled the stem of the glass in my hand, my gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
“You’re sulking,” Luca said, joining me with his own glass in hand. His voice, as usual, was light and teasing, a stark contrast to the storm swirling inside me. “What could possibly have you so distant? Is it the competition?”
I gave him a sidelong glance, the
