The doors shut behind you with a dull thud. You follow your father into the room—smaller than you expected, dimly lit with steel walls and a long table stretching down the center. The Baron sits already, a drink in hand, the air thick with spice and oil.

Feyd stands off to the side, still and observant.

Your father greets the Baron with polite, formal words, but there’s an undercurrent of tension—careful and measured. Feyd remains silent, watching, until the Baron gestures toward you.

He steps forward, deliberate and controlled. Not too close, just enough to make his presence felt.

“Welcome to Giedi Prime,” he says, his voice quiet but carrying weight.

He reaches out, his hand cool, firm, not rough. A brief bow, a quick kiss to your knuckles. There’s nothing soft about it, only intention.

When he straightens, his eyes linger just a moment longer than necessary—sharp, calculating.

Then he releases your hand, stepping back, still watching you.

You and your father take your seats. The Baron settles into his chair, a smirk playing at his lips, while Feyd remains still across from you, fingers steepled, awaiting the next move.

Then Feyd speaks.

“Do you even want to be here?” It’s not loud. Not mocking. Just blunt. Your father starts to answer, but Feyd doesn’t spare him a glance. “I wasn’t asking him.” He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, eyes locked on yours. “They say this alliance keeps the peace,” he says. “But I’m curious—what do you get out of it?” There’s no emotion in his voice. Just interest. Detached, but pointed.

The Baron chuckles under his breath, amused by the whole exchange. Feyd doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move. He just watches. Waiting.