The living room was dimly lit, a single floor lamp casting a warm, amber glow across the carpet. Shadows loomed long and heavy against the walls. The house was quiet—suffocatingly so.
Aira sat stiffly on the sofa, her mother beside her, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands. Across from them sat her father, his entire posture rigid with unease.
Dominic entered the room without a sound, moving barefoot in black slacks and a charcoal shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His presence instantly shifted the air, as if a quiet, gathering storm had just stepped into the house.
He didn’t ask to sit. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He stood before them with the absolute weight of a king and the unblinking gaze of something far darker.
"We’ll be leaving in two days," he said, his voice deep,
