The study door clicked shut behind Billy, and an unsettling silence enveloped the room.
It was a silence that felt heavy and suffocating, like the eerie stillness after a gunshot, when your ears ring and your heart races, yet nothing more can be heard.
Outside, the faint echo of footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the grand walls of the Osborn estate.
Arthur sat motionless in his chair, one hand loosely cradling a half-filled glass of wine while the other pressed lightly against his temple.
He stared at the spot where Billy had stood just moments before, as if trying to grasp onto the warmth that had just slipped away.
With a slow, deep exhale that hinted at fatigue, he let his shoulders slump slightly, a rare faltering of his usual commanding posture.
He brought the glass to his lips but didn't drink; instead, he inhaled deeply, letting the bitter scent of red wine wash over him like a forgotten memory.
