Dinner at the Hart residence had always followed a rhythm.
The table was long, polished, and immaculately set. Crystal glasses reflected the chandelier's soft light, and the quiet clink of cutlery against porcelain echoed through the dining room like a measured metronome. It was the kind of house where silence wasn't awkward—it was cultivated.
Three people sat at the table.
One seat remained empty.
Miranda noticed it first, as she always did.
She sat with her back straight, movements precise, the way she had been taught since childhood. Across from her, her father ate slowly, barely tasting the food, his mind clearly elsewhere. At the head of the table, her mother maintained her composed expression, though the slight tension in her jaw betrayed her thoughts.
"So," her mother said at last, folding her napkin carefully. "It's official."
Miranda exhaled quietly. "Yes. Halcyon confirmed it this afternoon."
Her father's fork paused midair. "Public announcement?"
