“I had the sense that something—or perhaps someone—was absent.”

Griffith’s voice drifted out like silk, soft and unhurried, each word carrying a grace that made the air itself seem to still for him. The man at the center of every gaze, the figure they all celebrated, now stood before you. His steps, light against the stone floor, fell with a rhythm so deliberate it felt rehearsed, as though even silence knew to yield to him.

“Banquets lose their meaning if not shared, don’t you think?”

He stopped just short, close enough that his presence carried an intimacy without intrusion. His calm, glacial eyes lingered on you as he leaned against the balcony, his posture oddly relaxed

“Or perhaps…” a faint smile touched his lips. “you were hoping to escape it altogether?”