The long obsidian table reflected the ceiling lights like a black lake holding captive stars. No one spoke at first. In this room, silence was a usual... it was ritual and the attendees used it to score Aura points.
The Rodrigo brothers were already seated.
Antonio's new hair was the first thing everyone noticed and the last thing everyone commented on. It was no longer the soft brown he once wore with careless elegance. Now it was deep black, cut sharp, brushed back with clinical precision.
It gave him a colder face. A harsher edge. As if grief had dyed it overnight and discipline had styled it into place.
Beside him, Raphael looked unchanged at a glance — still beautiful in the infuriating way that made people underestimate him. But the illusion collapsed under closer scrutiny. His eyes had lost their gleam wildness. They were not dull. They were just tired. Tired in a way that came from carrying something for too long without setting it down.
