Julius stood over the body of our father.
The hall was silent and heavy, as if the air itself refused to move. The scent of incense hung thick in the space, clinging to my lungs every time I breathed in. The stone floor beneath our feet was cold, and somehow that cold seemed to seep upward, crawling along my skin and settling deep in my chest.
Julius didn't kneel. He didn't bow his head. He didn't even hesitate.
He simply stood there, looming over the body laid out before us.
His gaze dropped to the king's face. Not with grief, not with respect, but with a look so detached it was almost cruel. It was the kind of stare you'd give to something broken and useless, and something already forgotten. His eyes were empty, stripped of warmth, and stripped of anything human.
