Trevor leaned back in the chair that still smelled faintly of salt and old wood, brought over from the coastal estate not out of need but memory. They'd only returned a few hours ago, and the main mansion felt both too large and too expectant, like a theater resetting its stage after the final curtain.
Lucas was just a room away. His office door stood slightly ajar, enough for the sounds to carry, pages turning, a pen tapping glass, and the crisp slide of envelopes being opened and sorted by hand. Trevor didn't need to hover anymore. If Lucas wanted him, he'd call. If Lucas were in trouble, Trevor would already know.
He exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing over the folder on his desk. The cover was still warm from the sun that had slanted through the tall windows earlier, its edges softened by use. Inside, nothing new. Just a confirmation of what was already done.
