Kael
My grandfather's study smells like old leather, ink, and quiet authority.
It's a room built to make men feel small. Dark wood walls, books arranged with obsessive precision, trophies that aren't meant to impress but to remind. Every object in here is a warning: I have survived longer than you. I have outlasted everyone who thought they could challenge me.
"Close the door," he says.
I do. The click echoes too loudly. For a moment, there is only silence. The kind of silence that squeezes at your ribs. The kind that tries to force confession out of you just to relieve the tension.
He doesn't blink.
"Do you truly intend to marry that girl?" he asks.
Lilith. Not "that woman." Not "your fiancée." Not even her name.
That girl.
I feel the familiar heat rise in my
