The heavy door closed behind Noel with a dull thud. The scent of old paper and faint incense filled the office, and the only light came from a single oil lamp burning low on Albrecht's desk. Shadows stretched long across the walls, swallowing the gold-trimmed furniture in dim silence.
Albrecht sat there, posture rigid but eyes unfocused — a man carved from iron, yet cracking at the edges.
"Sit down," he said finally, his tone stripped of the usual command.
Noel obeyed, pulling a chair and sitting across from him. The silence that followed wasn't tense — it was weary, like two people standing at the edge of something they both knew would hurt.
After a long pause, Albrecht's voice broke the quiet. "I assume you already know why I called you here."
Noel's green eyes met his father's. "About my mother."
Albrecht gave a slow nod.
Noel said simply, his tone flat. "Judging by your face, this isn't the first time you've thought about her tonight."
