The long oak table in the Blackwood-Montenegro family dining room, usually a place of boisterous laughter and shared stories, felt more like a negotiating table for a fragile truce tonight. The rich aroma of roasted meat and herbs did little to cut the tension hanging thick in the air. Luna, sensing the adult unease, pushed her food around her plate with a quiet solemnity that was far older than her years.
Elena Blackwood set her wine glass down with a precise click that echoed in the strained silence. "We cannot continue on this path, Marcus," she said, her voice calm but firm, her gaze fixed on Aria's father. "This… unyielding opposition. It's painting a target on every one of us, but most of all, on the children." Her eyes flickered to Luna, then to Kai, her son, sitting stiffly beside Aria.
