Ocean was working in his office, the junior aides granted a rare day off. The estate felt quieter without their constant shuffling and whispered arguments. Only the steady rhythm of pen against parchment filled the room.
For nearly an hour, neither man spoke.
Sunlight slipped through the tall windows in pale, warming streaks, catching on dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. Outside, the trees lining the estate grounds were beginning to trade their skeletal branches for tender green. The days were getting warmer as the spring made its appearance.
At last, Ocean set his pen aside.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead until his shoulders gave a soft, satisfied pop. The movement loosened the tension in his spine, though his expression remained as unreadable as ever.
Across the room, Roan was still bent over his desk, brows drawn together in stubborn concentration.
Ocean rose, moving toward the window. His steps were quiet, unhurried.
