One of the men stepped forward carrying a tray, moving with practiced ease as though the action had been repeated so many times that even thinking about it was unnecessary, and he crossed the room under the steady weight of silence before setting the tray down and pouring tea with careful precision that did not break the atmosphere even once.
The steam rose in thin curling threads that drifted upward and vanished just as quietly, while Liuxian stared at the cup without reaching for it, as though something so ordinary no longer belonged in a moment that had already shifted into something far more uncomfortable than a simple conversation.
Liuxian let out a low sound that resembled laughter but it carried no warmth, and when he shook his head it was not amusement but disappointment settling in, the kind that lingers longer than anger because it has already decided something was wrong and is simply waiting for confirmation.
