The room held its breath, suspended in sunlight and quiet anticipation.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, catching dust in slow, drifting patterns, as if time itself had decided to linger. Something unspoken settled gently between them—not heavy, not urgent, but waiting.
Dahlia’s fingers rested lightly on the table as she looked at Maya, memory softening her gaze—and then she spoke.
“Yes.” Dahlia smiled, her gaze drifting briefly down memory’s quieter corridors.
“You know, we used to go to the range together—regularly.”
She leaned back slightly, fingers folding with practiced ease.
“Being born into the family we were born into comes with privileges—luxury, elegance, influence.” Her lips curved faintly. “But it also comes with responsibilities. With duties. With enemies you
