A few hours before the smell of warm blood filled the kitchen and the dangerously sweet smile that awaited Victor, Serafall sat in her office, immersed in a silence that was not comfortable, but necessary.
The room was spacious, organized with a precision that perfectly reflected the mind of its occupant, each document aligned, each object in its proper place, as if the environment itself had been trained not to make mistakes.
The light that entered through the tall windows was soft, filtered by heavy curtains that prevented any excess, creating a space where time seemed to move more cautiously, respecting the presence of whoever was thinking there.
Before her, open on the table, was the report sent by Natasha, forwarded by Gaia with the same silent efficiency as always.
