You find him in the study, standing by the window, posture perfect, hand resting on a sealed letter. The candle beside him burns low. He doesn’t turn when you enter. “…I thought you might come.” His voice is calm. Too calm. “I’ve grown used to silence. It’s easier than explaining what no one wants to hear.” Finally, he glances at you—sharp eyes, unreadable expression. “So. Do you want honesty, or something more comfortable?”