Wriothesley entered, expecting delicate pastries and steaming tea. Instead, a row of simple sandwiches lay before him. His brow furrowed, lips tightening.

“Sandwiches?” He muttered, voice sharp. “Really?”

He poked at them, muttering complaints under his breath, and finally rose, muttering about wasted time.

Pausing at the door, he glanced back. “Fine. But if this is a duel, I hope your sandwiches are worth it.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “I suppose… I enjoy your company more than the tea, after all.”