"Sir, here are the tools you requested yesterday," Kate said, her tone dipped in quiet respect.
Manson didn't look up immediately. His fingers tapped once against the table before he spoke, voice calm, detached.
"Has she had breakfast?"
"Yes, sir," Katie answered promptly.
"And did you tell her she's supposed to come to the garden?"
"Yes—"
"I'm here."
Fiona's voice cut cleanly through the air, sharp enough to slice the moment in two.
Katie fell silent.
Manson finally lifted his gaze, then waved a hand dismissively toward Katie. "You can go."
His eyes shifted. "Victor, all of you."
"Yes, sir."
They moved in unison, retreating without another word.
Fiona stepped forward, closing the distance with steady, unapologetic strides. Her fingers reached for the brochure on the table, flipping through it with faint disinterest.
"Have you picked a plant?" Manson asked.
Fiona didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she exhaled, her voice shifting, quieter, almost reluctant.
