Lydia kept on laughing like someone had just told a joke—one so absurd it hurt more than it amused. But it wasn't laughter from joy. It sounded like glass cracking in a quiet room. Bitter. Sharp. And deeply uncomfortable. Everyone at the table just sat there, stunned. No one knew whether to look at her or away. It felt like she had brought winter with her, and it was slowly freezing the room.
Olga's brows drew together. She wasn't used to being confused, but she was now. Alexander shifted in his seat and cleared his throat once, then didn't say anything. Even Tatiana, who always seemed to have something to say, was completely still. Her eyes flicked from Lydia to Ivan, waiting for someone to speak.
