The living room felt oddly tense as Evander sank into the leather couch, the soft light from the lamps playing across the room. A crystal glass of wine rested in his hand, its deep red hue glinting softly. Across from him sat Victor Walton, his father, his presence as intimidating as ever. His sharp eyes, framed by faint wrinkles that hinted at his years of wisdom, were locked onto Evander, as though silently dissecting him.
Ashton had been a lively presence earlier, his laughter ringing out as he animatedly spoke about his day, jumping from topic to topic with the kind of energy only kids seem to have. But as the night wore on, his eyelids had grown heavier, his words slower.
"Alright, buddy, it's time for you to sleep," Evander had said gently, ruffling his son's hair.
"But I wanna stay here," Ashton mumbled, clinging to his father's arm.
Evander chuckled. "Come on, even superheroes need their rest."
