The sun had long since passed its zenith, leaving behind a pale orange glow that was beginning to fade on the western horizon. In the living room of Valerius's home, the silence felt so thick, as if even the air were reluctant to move. The antique teak wall clock continued to tick with a monotonous rhythm; each second sounded like a silent countdown to the two women sitting there.
Beatrice sipped her Earl Grey tea with an extremely calm motion. There was no tremor in her fingers, which wore an emerald ring. Beside her, Haelyn leaned back against the velvet sofa, her hand occasionally rubbing her own stomach, yet her eyes remained fixed on the phone lying on the table. They were waiting for something. Not the arrival of a guest, but a ringing phone bearing news of death.
