The Von Meier family's sitting room that evening smelled of old wood and freshly steeped black tea. Outside, the sky had turned a dusky violet, its light filtering through the tall windows and casting a soft glow across the faded rug. In the corner, the fireplace crackled quietly, but it wasn't nearly warm enough to melt the chill hanging between the guests.
Viscount Wilhelm sat stiffly in the main armchair, posture rigid like he was bracing for impact. Across from him, Duke Matthias von Ignaz lounged on a dark leather sofa, his movements slow and deliberate, like a man who never entered a room without owning it first.
Greta sat to the Duke's right, hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze calm but razor-sharp, tracking every flicker of emotion on her father's face. Hellene took the seat to his left, head slightly bowed, trying, and failing, to hide her discomfort.
