The evening did not fall gently, for though the fading light cast long and elegant shadows across the room, stretching them across polished floors and silent walls, there lingered within the air a tension that did not belong to dusk, and Alexander stood near the tall window with his gaze fixed outward, though he did not truly see the city beyond, for his thoughts had already narrowed toward something far more immediate, far more consuming.
The faint glow of the skyline flickered against the glass, broken in fragments that mirrored the unrest within him, and his hand rested lightly against the edge of the table beside him, fingers still though not relaxed, as if holding himself steady against a truth he had only just begun to understand.
"…she belongs to him," the voice said at last, quiet yet deliberate, as though choosing each word with care.
"…you should walk away," it added, the warning softened by something that resembled concern.
