The grand dining hall remained eerily quiet, the only audible sound I could hear are the sound of clinking metal on ceramic plates, and the tiny screetches of a steak knife cutting through a meat.
But I barely paid any attention to it.
My eyes kept flicking toward the massive wooden doors at the far end of the room, where Foxy had disappeared through not long ago.
My own food sat mostly untouched on my plate, my grip on my knife and fork tightened as I replayed the evening in my head.
She had barely eaten.
She had barely spoken.
And then she had left, quickly, almost like she was running from something.
Or was it someone.
Lucas sat on the edge of the table, he was again watching me with a smug sort of amusement, sipping leisurely from his wine glass as if he was only waiting for me to finally snap.
Beside me sat Ava, who only stabbed a piece of meat with her fork, glancing between me and Lucas with growing curiosity.
"You're awfully quiet tonight, Marcus."
