It was the door to the Arctis Patriarch, his father's office.
Ryn realized that as they stood before it, the white hall stretched endlessly behind them. Everything else in the world had gone still except for this door.
His mother's hand tightened around his.
She exhaled once, slow and steady, then reached for the handle.
The moment it turned, warmth spilled out.
Not comfort, but heat. The kind that pressed against skin, heavy and stifling after the quiet cold of the hall.
The Arctis patriarch stood behind a broad desk of dark wood, posture immaculate as always. Papers were neatly arranged before him, ink still wet on some of them.
He looked up as they entered.
His gaze passed over Ryn first.
Then settled on her.
"You're late," he said.
"I won't be staying," she replied.
No hesitation. The silence that followed was thick, stretched taut between them like a bowstring about to snap.
"You're being emotional," he said at last. "This isn't the time."
