Sunday dinner at the estate had been the same since Sera was a child.
Same table. Same dishes. The same comfortable quiet between her and Savio meant nothing except they were both present and that was enough. She had a glass of wine. He had water. The food was good. It was ordinary. It was the one part of her week that remained exactly what it had always been.
Then, between the main course and whatever came after, Savio said: "Roman Ashford came to see me."
Sera looked up.
"Tuesday," Savio said. He cut a small piece of food and ate it without any change in expression. "We had tea."
Sera put her fork down. "Excuse me."
Not a question. The flat, specific sound of a person who has heard something correctly and needs a moment before they respond to it.
"He came about Aldric," Savio said
