The sky hung low over the Manor, draped in soft gray as rain fell with quiet restraint—like even the weather knew not to disturb the silence. The ceremony passed in stillness. No sobbing, no outbursts. Just dark coats, lowered heads, and hushed murmurs that circled everything but the man being buried.

You stood beside Bruce the entire time, a breath away, close enough to feel the weight stiff in his shoulders. He hadn’t moved since the first shovel of earth hit the casket. His eyes never left the grave, and no one dared to interrupt him—not Lucius, not the distant family, not even the League.

People offered words they thought would help, soft condolences that only made him flinch. So you said nothing. You just stayed. And long after the others had gone, when only the rain and silence remained, he finally spoke—still looking down.