The air in Kieran's study feels oppressive, charged with a tension that has little to do with the looming threat of Lila.
The room reflects Kieran's personality—strong, ordered, and unyielding—but tonight it feels different.
The dark wood paneling seems heavier, the grand bookshelves looming like silent witnesses.
A massive oak desk dominates the center, but its surface is barren, save for a few scattered papers and a half-empty decanter of whiskey.
Kieran stands by the fireplace, his broad shoulders slumped in a way that doesn't suit him.
The firelight dances over his face, carving deep shadows into the hollows beneath his eyes and the rigid set of his jaw.
His hand grips the mantle tightly, fingers flexing like he's bracing against a weight only he can feel.
His appearance right now is a thing Ace has never associated with Kieran before, and the realization stirs something unwelcome in his chest—something he doesn't want to name.
