Zane~
The moment Jacob and I materialized in my father's private chambers, the air seemed to shudder, the temperature plummeting as if the room itself recoiled from our sudden arrival.
My father stood before the grand arched window, framed by the cold glow of the moonlight. His silhouette was rigid, hands clasped behind his back—a stance that radiated unyielding authority. The soft light from the obsidian chandelier barely softened the sharp angles of his face. The walls were lined with ancient tapestries, each depicting the brutal conquests of our lineage, a legacy written in blood.
The scent of burning incense and aged parchment lingered, a haunting reminder of my childhood, of whispered lessons and unbreakable laws.
Then, his eyes—icy and piercing, identical to mine—snapped to us.
He didn't move. Didn't speak. But I saw it. The flicker. The almost imperceptible twitch of his fingers.
A tell.
He was extremely shocked to see us.
