Only the crackle of the fireplace cut through the heavy silence. Carlos remained leaning back against his velvet armchair, his ancient hands comfortably folded over the dark wood of his cane. He slowly tilted his chin, his sunken eyes fixing on his daughter.
"Are you truly going to keep staring at the ceiling just to avoid my gaze?" Carlos asked softly, a faint, mocking smile dancing on his withered lips.
Jericho let out a sharp, thoroughly annoyed breath, not bothering to hide the raw disgust lingering in her chest.
"Looking at the stones is far more palatable than looking at your face," Jericho replied coldly, her dark gown rustling slightly as she adjusted her posture.
Carlos let out a low, dry chuckle that sounded like dry leaves scraping against stone. "All these years... and you are still as hot-tempered as ever."
