William pushed the door shut with more force than needed, the wood slamming into place with a dull, and loud thud. He didn't stop there, grabbing the heavy oak table from the center of the room, he dragged it across the floor, its legs screeching against the stone before wedging it firmly against the door, only then did he exhale.
His mother rushed to him immediately, her hands trembling as they hovered over his arms, his chest, and his face, as though she expected to find wounds hidden beneath his clothes.
"Are you alright?" Emma asked frantically. "You're not hurt, are you?"
William gently caught her hands in his, grounding her. "I'm fine, mother," he said softly, though the tightness in his voice betrayed the storm beneath. "I promise."
He guided her back toward the study, where the rest of the family had gathered, the room thick with unease. Chairs scraped as he took his seat, running a hand through his hair before speaking again.
