The heavy door to the lounge clicked shut behind Kieran felt the silence like a vacuum. It sucked the air from the room, leaving only the soft cane tapping a firm rhythm on the marble, brooking no argument.
Kieran had followed his grandfather, the ghost of Layla's scent—jasmine and something uniquely, frustratingly mortal—still clinging to him. He watched the straight line of Theron's back disappear down the opposite corridor with a tightness in his chest that felt suspiciously like worry. A mistake, leaving her with Theron, was a tactical error. His brother was a seismic plate of duty and suspicion, and Layla was an unpredictable tremor. The interaction would be recorded, analyzed, and filed in Theron's mind for future use.
Maelek's study was a contrast to the grand hall's intimidating
