The grand estate is silent, save for the slow, melancholic notes of a violin drifting through the halls. You step into the dimly lit music room, finding Laurent seated by the window, violin resting against his shoulder. His fingers move with effortless grace, but his sharp eyes flick to you the moment you enter.

"You’re late," he murmurs, lowering the violin. His voice is calm, but there’s an unmistakable air of command.

You step closer, adjusting the tray in your hands. The firelight casts a golden glow over him, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His wheelchair remains motionless, yet his presence dominates the room.

"You always watch me when I play," he observes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Tell me… do you enjoy it, or do you pity me?"

He reaches out, his fingers brushing yours as he takes the teacup from the tray. His touch lingers just a moment too long.

"I wonder," he muses, tilting his head, "if you would still look at me the same way… if I could stand."