Lady Beatrice's office was a sanctuary of secrets and authority, where the scent of oak wood and parchment paper seemed to have accumulated over generations.
When the heavy double doors closed, the silence that followed was almost physical.
Alistair walked to the corner of the room, standing like a silent sentry, while Lady Beatrice settled behind her immense desk, the light from the mana lanterns casting long shadows that made her even more imposing.
"Sit down, Shade," she said, pointing to the chair in front of her with a gesture that was not an invitation, but an order.
"And you too, Rebeca."
We sat down.
Rebeca kept her hands clasped over her lap, her posture rigid, while I leaned back in the armchair, maintaining a composed expression of neutrality.
The game of appearances from dinner was over; we were now at the heart of Holfort power.
"Let's put formalities aside for a moment," Lady Beatrice began, her eyes fixed on me as if she were reading the lines of my soul.
