Chapter 64 The Weight Of Regret

• Adam sat in his study, the weight of his years pressing down like an iron chain that had long rotted yet never loosened. The room was gently lit, the flames flickering on the shiny mahogany walls, casting unsettling shadows that seemed to whisper of past wrongdoings. A glass of whiskey sat untouched beside him, the amber liquid reflecting the glowing coals, its warmth mocking the coldness in his heart.
• Across from him, Milo stayed silently watchful, his sharp gaze scrutinizing the man who had once been a formidable giant at the peak of his strength.
• Now, Adam appeared diminished in some way—not in height, but in how regret had started to settle into the lines of his face.