Rey sat in the stark room, his face impassive as the silence stretched on.
The sight of Admiral Zach Skylar, his father, stirred memories he'd long buried.
He remembered being a boy, no older than seven, standing in the grand library of their family estate. His older brother, Ezra, had just returned from winning some prestigious competition—one of many trophies that adorned the shelves. Their younger sister, Mira, sat on the couch, her piano recital awards spread out like a display of gemstones.
Rey held a sketch he'd worked on for days, his small hands clutching the paper tightly as he approached his parents.
"I made this," he said softly, holding it out to them.
His father barely glanced up from his business tablet. "That's nice, Rey."
His mother, sitting across the room with her campaign advisor, didn't even look up. "Why don't you show it to your siblings, dear? They're the ones with the artistic touch in this family."
