The long dining table glowed beneath the chandelier's warm light, casting soft gold across polished wood and untouched plates.
Outside, the sky had already surrendered to evening, deep blue melting into night. Inside, the atmosphere was light, yet thick with disguised tension.
Old Mr. Thorne broke it.
His fork clattered softly against the plate as he set it down. "Athena," he said, his voice calm, too calm. "What is going on?"
Athena didn't look up. She sat at the end of the table, her fingers wrapped around her glass, her eyes fixed on the dark swirl of juice she hadn't touched.
Her grandfather leaned forward. "Why did you absolve the claims on social media? Why did you let Ewan take the heat alone? Did something happen?"
The question sliced through the quiet like a knife.
All eyes turned to her, worried and wary. Even the twins looked up from their plates, confusion shadowing their faces.
But Athena said nothing.
