The clink of cutlery and laughter had faded, replaced by the soft hum of jazz spilling from the lounge speakers. The dining room lights were dimmed now~warm, golden, and intimate~as evening settled deeper into the Hart mansion.
Juliana stood by the window, a glass of wine in hand, her gaze resting on the garden beyond. She didn't hear Hector enter until he was beside her, swirling whiskey in his glass with practiced ease.
"She's changed," Juliana said softly, not turning.
Hector chuckled. "You say that like it's a bad thing. Our daughter didn't argue once through dinner. That's a miracle."
Juliana offered a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "It's not just that. She was… softer. Polite in a way Seraphina never bothers to be. And when you asked about the Mendozas—"
"She remembered Clara studied in New York and mentioned old man Vernier," Hector cut in with a grin. "I nearly choked on my steak. Never thought she'd recall something that trivial."
