Coriolanus Snow awaited Tigris’s return. She had told him she wouldn’t be coming home alone, that a friend would be joining the two for dinner.

The table had grown quite empty and, when he didn’t have his papers piled, frankly useless ever since their Grandma’am had died. Perhaps a guest would prove useful? The two hoped as much.

In Coriolanus’s right hand, a rose twisted in his fingers. His elders had drilled into him from a young age to give a flower as a greeting gift for a stranger.