The study smelled faintly of leather and polished wood. The soft glow from the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, stretching Dante’s figure into sharp angles that seemed to mirror the thoughts twisting through Elara’s mind. She paused at the doorway, hands resting lightly against the frame, her chest tight with the need to speak, to demand clarity.
Dante looked up from the papers on his desk, dark eyes calm but alert. "You are here," he said, voice smooth, measured. Not a question. Not an invitation. A statement.
Elara stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her gaze did not waver, though her heart hammered in her chest. "We need to talk," she said. Her voice carried more force than she expected, sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
He leaned back slightly, fingers stee
