Soon after, General Julien arrived at the manor.
The main hall seemed to still at his presence.
Melchior stepped forward without hesitation and extended his hand. Julien met it just as firmly.
Their grips locked—
held—
a second longer than necessary.
Two generals.
Neither yielding.
Then, almost at the same time, they let go.
The smiles remained—polite, controlled—but they never reached the eyes.
Sylene watched from a short distance, unease settling quietly in his chest.
Why did something feel… off? Somehow, he felt a subtle hint of rivalry in that… handshake.
Melchior stood as composed as ever, posture straight, expression unreadable. Yet beneath it, something strained—tight, like a thread drawn too far.
Julien adjusted his gloves slowly, gaze sweeping across the hall before returning to Melchior.
Silence lingered.
Then—
"If the Vampire King is in danger," Melchior said, voice steady and direct, "will the humans help us?"
The question landed heavier this time.
