The carriage rocked gently as it moved through the dark, gaslit streets of the city. Inside, the air was thick with a tension that was far heavier than the plush velvet of the seats. Lord Burton sat rigidly, his gloved hands clasped tightly on his knees, his gaze fixed on the shifting shadows outside the window. He was a man drowning in a decision he had made days ago, a choice that had felt necessary in the moment but now felt like a lead weight in his soul.
Across from him sat Baron Edgar, Delia's grandfather. The old man's face, though lined with age, was alight with a fierce, determined energy. He leaned forward, his eyes, still sharp and clear, trying to catch Burton's evasive stare.
The memory of his conversation with Augusta played over and over in Lord Burton's mind, a tormenting echo.
~ • FLASHBACK • ~
