Zane sensed the shift before he could name it.
Nothing in the room had changed. The table remained centered. The chairs aligned with deliberate symmetry. Jonathan sat across from him, posture attentive, pen resting idle between his fingers. Lisabeth had withdrawn to the periphery, presence reduced to silence.
Everything was as it should have been.
And yet something inside him had tilted.
He adjusted in his chair with habitual precision, grounding himself through familiar control. Control had always been his anchor. It kept negotiations efficient, outcomes predictable, and judgment clean. It had carried him through decisions where hesitation cost far more than composure ever could.
What unsettled him now was not Willow's presence.
It was the way she held it.
