A Week Later
The evening at the Armitage estate was not defined by the usual oppressive silence of a dynasty in decline. Instead, the grand dining hall—a room that had hosted prime ministers and cutthroat CEOs—was filled with the warm, flickering light of a hundred beeswax candles and the soft, soulful hum of a cello suite playing from hidden speakers.
The air was heavy with the scent of roasted rosemary and expensive red wine. Arm sat at the head of the table, but he looked nothing like the "Ice King" of the tabloids. He wore a simple black cashmere sweater, his posture relaxed, his dark eyes tracking every movement of the man sitting to his right.
Mild was laughing, his face flushed with the kind of genuine joy that only comes from a week of peace. He was telling Skyler and Elena about his first day back at the neuro-clinic, his hands gesturing animatedly.
