Theo stood like a specter at the periphery of the courtyard, positioned precisely where the lantern light failed and the encroaching darkness began.
He was close enough to be acknowledged as present, a loyal servant, and a functional piece of the Nightwing machinery, but far enough from the warm, pulsing center of the celebration that his isolation felt deliberate rather than accidental.
Since that disastrous night in the guest room, his existence had been governed by two razor-sharp conditions.
Aurelia had delivered them not with anger, but with a devastating, glacial finality that left no room for negotiation. Her voice had been quiet, each word a tombstone.
'Attend to your duties without complaint.'
'And never under any circumstance approach Rex, Diana, or Iris with anything beyond the flat, hollow courtesy owed to any other member of this household.'
Theo had obeyed. He had become a master of restraint, a connoisseur of silence.
