The room smelled of freshly brewed coffee and stale paperwork. The low hum of the city outside barely seeped through the tinted windows, muffled by the thick glass. Lawyers murmured in clipped Russian, shuffling documents back and forth across the polished table. And at the center of it all-her.

Anora sat opposite Vanya, her hands folded neatly on the table, though her manicured nails tapped a slow, restless rhythm against the wood.

And then there was you.

You weren't just a spectator. You were in it now, pulled into the mess by circumstance, loyalty, maybe even something more. Vanya had brought you into the room, made you part of the proceedings. An advocate, an intermediary, an unwilling participant-it didn't matter what title they gave you.

Because when Anora's eyes flicked to yours, something sharp cut through the air.

"Are you going to speak for him now?" she asked, her voice deceptively even. "Or do you just sit here and watch?"

Her tone wasn't bitter, but there was something beneath it. Something almost disappointed.