The silence from the dining room followed us down the corridor, a heavy, suffocating cloak. I walked with a steady, measured pace, my hands clasped behind my back, my gaze fixed on the polished floor ahead. I did not need to look to know he was there. I could feel his presence, a silent, imposing force that shadowed my every step.
We were alone for the first time since the dinner, the estate's staff having wisely melted away into the shadows. The grand, empty hall felt like an arena, the space between us charged with the unresolved tension of the meal.
"You handled it."
Darius's voice was a low, quiet statement that broke the silence. It wasn't praise. It wasn't praise or approval. But a simple, clinical observation of a fact.
"They expected something else," I replied, my voice equally calm. I did not slow my pace. I did not turn to look at him.
"They expected a reaction," he countered, his steps matching mine perfectly. "An emotional defense. A plea for validation."
