Lucia Fitzgeralt had the posture of someone who judged people for a living and won every time. She sat like the room belonged to her, dressed in slate-gray silk and garnet earrings that could have doubled as murder weapons. Her eyes, pale and unblinking, tracked Lucas and Trevor as they approached the table.
"Mother," Trevor said coolly as they reached their seats.
"Trevor." Lucia inclined her head just slightly. "You didn't mention he was so… decorative."
Lucas smiled with surgical precision. "I'm also punctual, literate, and resistant to subtle cruelty. But thank you for the compliment."
Cressida sipped her wine without blinking. Serathine's lips twitched.
From the left, a chair scraped as Milo collapsed into it, draped in unbuttoned elegance and the scent of clove cigarettes he wasn't technically allowed to smoke indoors. "Gods, he talks like he knows what a spine is. Refreshing."
