The door to the penthouse opened with a heavy click. Silas stepped inside, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud.
He loosened his tie as he walked into the living room, where Sylvain was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the floor.
Sylvain looked up immediately, his face already pale with anxiety. He had been waiting for hours, dread building with every passing minute. His eyes were dull, red-rimmed from earlier tears, and his posture was slumped, as if the burden of the world had finally crushed him.
Silas didn't greet him. He simply poured himself a glass of whiskey, took a slow sip, and finally spoke. "I'm home."
Sylvain didn't respond at first. He slowly lifted his head, his movements mechanical, like a puppet with cut strings. His voice came out flat, almost lifeless. "Welcome back."
