Charles rose slowly from the bed, every movement deliberate, as if standing too fast might shatter what little restraint he had left. The lantern's warm glow caught in his silver hair, throwing long, jagged shadows across his sharp features—shadows that made him look older, harder, and far more dangerous than moments ago. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles bleaching white, nails biting into flesh.
"Pathetic?" he repeated quietly, the word heavy with disbelief. Then his voice rose, cracking with something raw and feral. "You call me pathetic?"
He took a step forward, eyes burning. "I watched my son today—my brilliant, unbreakable son—stand at the center of that room and command the attention of the most powerful people on the planet." His chest hitched. "And where was I?"
Another step. Closer.
"Banished to the edges. Reduced to a spectator. Treated like an irrelevant outsider."
