He had felt it, faintly, like something was off beneath the surface of what should have been a satisfying outcome.
Now it made sense.
Ryley's gaze dimmed, the fire in it no longer flaring—but sinking, condensing into something far more controlled. The anger didn't disappear. It settled.
Sharpened.
The room fell into a stretched, uneasy silence.
After a while, Ryley drew in a measured breath and rose from his seat. The movement alone was enough—Pedro followed, standing at once without needing to be told.
Ryley walked toward the tall window, stopping just before it. His hands came together in front of him, fingers interlacing tightly, the grip almost rigid.
"Mr. Pedro…" he called, his voice quieter now, but steadier.
Pedro stepped forward, closing the distance just enough to stand behind him. "Yes, Your Highness."
Ryley didn't turn. His reflection faintly stared back at him through the glass.
