I watched the satisfaction bloom across Bennett Orwell's weathered face as we prepared to leave. The family head had gotten exactly what he wanted—Bradley's exile and my departure from his precious halls.
"You've made your bed, Bradley," Bennett called out as we reached the courtyard entrance. "Don't come crawling back when reality strikes."
Bradley's shoulders tensed, but he kept walking. The man had just lost everything—family, position, decades of accumulated respect—yet his faith in me remained unshaken.
"Master Knight," he said quietly as we approached my car. "I know this seems like a disaster, but I believe—"
"Stop." I raised a hand, cutting him off. "You don't need to justify your choice. Not to me, and certainly not to them."
Behind us, the Orwell family had gathered on the main steps to witness our departure. Their collective smugness was palpable. They thought they'd won something by casting out their most loyal member.
How wrong they were.
