Cold.
Silence.
Tessa.
She lounged in the dining hall like a queen on her throne, her legs crossed lazily as Daniel sat at her side, his head slightly bowed. A red mark on his neck, freshly made, stood out against his pale skin, an undeniable claim that made Tessa smirk every time her gaze flicked to it.
"Daniel, pass me the salt," she commanded, though the shaker was within her reach.
He didn't argue, sliding it toward her without looking up. Her hand brushed his as she took it, and she leaned in, her breath brushing his ear.
"Good boy," she whispered, low enough that Claire, sitting at the far end of the table, couldn't hear.
Daniel's jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists under the table. Tessa noticed, of course. She always noticed. Her smirk deepened.
At the other end, Claire sat stiffly, her plate untouched. She hadn't spoken since she entered the room. Her once fiery presence was now a dull ember, her posture slumped, her gaze fixed somewhere just past the table.
