Aiden
The large wooden door to my father’s study creaked open as I stepped inside. The room smelled of aged leather and cigar smoke, a space I’d known well growing up but hadn’t stepped into in quite some time. My father sat behind his heavy oak desk, a stack of documents before him. He didn’t look up when I entered, but I knew he was aware of my presence.
“Father,” I began, my voice steady. I’d been rehearsing this conversation all day, but now that I was here, the weight of what I was about to say pressed on my chest. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” he replied, his tone gruff as he scribbled something on the papers in front of him. “If this is about the incident at Kendrick’s estate, I’ve already heard enough from the elders. I warned you not to antagonize him.”
“It’s not just about that
