The great hall was unusually quiet that evening. Outside, the faint hum of cicadas blended with the rustle of trees, but inside the mansion, a strange tension hung like mist. Lucien sat on the far end of the long sofa, reviewing reports in silence. Devon sat across from him, staring into a cup of untouched tea that had long gone cold.
Elias sat between them, swinging his small legs idly, looking from one adult to the other with furrowed brows. Neither Lucien nor Devon spoke a word.
Elias tilted his head, pouting. "You're both acting weird again."
Devon blinked, startled from his thoughts.
"W-We're not acting weird, Elias," he said gently, setting his cup down. "Your father's just busy, and I..."
"You're lying."
Lucien's pen froze mid-stroke. Devon's breath hitched.
Elias crossed his arms. "You used to smile, Papa. And you used to talk a lot. Now you both look like you're mad at each other."
Devon glanced away, flustered. "It's not like that, sweetheart."
