By the time evening settled over the island, the first wave of strain had already begun to dissolve into the kind of domestic exhaustion that only appeared after a house had held too many moving parts at once. The guests had arrived, the children were fed, the staff had reset the terrace, and the light along the sea had shifted from bright gold to a soft, honeyed orange that made everything feel briefly suspended. Ren stood at the top of the stairs with one hand resting on the rail, looking down into the main hall where people were drifting between rooms in relaxed clusters, and felt something inside him loosen in a way he had not expected. The day had gone well. Not perfectly, because perfection was a useless target, but well enough to matter.
Fang came up beside him a few moments later, carrying the faint scent of sea air and evening tea. He stopped on the landing and followed Ren's gaze. "You are looking thoughtful."
