For a while, silence reigned in the room.
The thick, heavy, suffocating quiet in the air was a stark contrast to the unshakeable confidence that usually defined the Brewer family.
The polished stone walls of the estate had always felt like an impregnable fortress of ancient influence and modern wealth.
Now, the space felt strangely fragile—shaken to its very foundation by the staggering foolishness of Clara's ambition.
Robert stood up, walking around the desk. "Merlin hasn't filed a formal complaint with the Praesagius—yet. A man of his stature considers such bureaucratic avenues beneath him."
He paused, stopping near the edge of the desk, his eyes dark with a suppressed, restless anxiety that Edmund had never seen in his uncle before.
"But the rumor mill among the foremost Talented families is already churning. If it leaks that the Brewers tried to strong-arm the Black Meridian and got broken for it, our standing before the Veilrend Games will collapse."
