Alina

The dining room was too quiet.

Crystal glasses glinted in the morning light, silverware shone like polished knives, and the long oak table stretched endlessly between us. I sat near the middle, my plate untouched, my stomach too tight to accept even a sip of water.

Ares sat at the head of the table, posture straight, expression carved in stone. He’d barely looked at me since I entered. He didn’t need to. His silence was enough to press me into place, like chains I couldn’t see ...