After enduring the constant chatter of the group for some time, Liam finally slowed the steady rhythm of his eating. The clatter of utensils, the casual banter, and the occasional bursts of laughter had faded into little more than background noise to him while he quietly observed the others from behind lowered eyes. Eventually, he placed his utensil down with deliberate calm and lifted his gaze toward the table. The question had been sitting at the back of his mind ever since he first sat down, and now that the moment presented itself, there was no reason to keep it there any longer.
"By the way," he said, his voice calm and even, cutting smoothly through the overlapping conversations. "Where's Sheila? I don't recall her ever being the type to miss breakfast."
The moment the question left his mouth, the atmosphere shifted in a way that was subtle yet unmistakable. It wasn't dramatic—no one gasped or reacted loudly—but the mood of the table tightened just enough to be noticeable.
