Chapter 63

• An ear-piercing scrape tears through the dining hall as Lucas’s fork drags against his plate. The sound is sharp, grating, like nails on stone, cutting through the otherwise silent room. I chance a glance up at him, only to find his fingers wrapped so tightly around the utensil that the metal has bent around his grip. His knuckles are white, his jaw clenched, and though his expression remains carefully neutral, the tension rolling off him is palpable.
• Not wanting to draw his ire, I quickly return my attention to the plate before me, forcing another bite into my mouth. The food is warm but tasteless, my appetite long since abandoned in favor of keeping the peace.
• The room is heavy with anticipation. Everyone waits for Lucas’s response, yet he offers none. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his sharp eyes sweeping the room, moving from one side to the other.