The evening settles over X Country like a silk shroud, slow and deliberate, pulling the last threads of daylight from the sky. Amber bleeds into rose, rose into violet, violet into the deep bruise of approaching night.
I descend the mansion stairs one step at a time, the soles of my shoes barely whispering against the polished stone. My fingers adjust my cufflinks with practiced ease—a small ritual, a moment of stillness before the world begins to move again. The gold catches the dying light, glinting softly.
A smile tugs at my lips.
Not because of the evening. Not because of the meeting ahead.
Because of the presence following just behind me.
My little sulking puppy.
He's been trailing me ever since I told him to stop worrying about me and go be the chairman he's supposed to be. And now he's stubborn again, tugging at my sleeve in that quiet, insistent way of his, refusing to let me leave without one last attempt to change my mind.
