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3rd Person's POV
The room smelled of old leather, fine scotch, and the sharp scent of burning paper. Keith stood behind the massive oak desk, his back to the door, pouring himself a generous glass of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler.
As the decanter clinked against the glass, it could've been a classy sound under different circumstances. He maintained a composed posture, shoulders squared in the tailored shirt he had put on after the earlier chaos, but there was a tension in the way he held the bottle, a slow, deliberate movement that hinted he was stalling for time.
The fire in the hearth crackled anew, flames dancing higher as another stack of papers curled at the edges and blackened. Adrien crossed the study in calculated strides, stopping just short of the desk, and without a moment's notice, lifted his phone. His thumb pressed play.
