Present.
The air in the dining room went still.
Gareth's greasy face drained of all color. His eyes—beady, rat-like—locked onto Viktor standing there in his apron, spatula still in hand like some domestic husband.
It was the look in Viktor's eyes.
"Y-Young Lord—" Gareth's voice cracked.
He moved.
Fast.
Faster than a man his age and build should've been able to. His body dropped, knees hitting the wooden floor with a sickening 'thud'. His hands pressed flat, forehead slamming down so hard the impact echoed through the room.
'BANG!'
"Please! Please forgive this lowly servant!" Gareth's voice pitched into a desperate wail. "I—I've come!"
Elara, still collapsed near the doorway, stared at the confusing display with her mouth hanging open. "What the—"
But no one was looking at Gareth.
Every eye in the room had shifted.
To Bella.
She sat frozen at the dining table, silver spoon halfway to her mouth. Her entire body had gone rigid the moment Gareth's voice hit her ears.
