The dining room was long, lined with glass cabinets and closed windows. Nothing inside the room felt lived injust polished, preserved, displayed. Like grief framed under glass.
Victor Ashcroft sat at the head of the table, napkin already folded neatly across his lap, posture perfect, expression cold. He didn't look up as Edward entered.
"You're late," Victor said. Not irritated. Just factual.
Ashcroft slid into the opposite chair, gloves still on. "No one's hungry."
The silence stretched. The food, untouched, gave off no steam.
Victor lifted his glass. "You've been seen in town. More often. With less care."
Ashcroft didn't reply.
"You were raised to stand apart. Now you sit beside the mediocre."
Still nothing.
"You believe that makes you principled. It makes you indistinct."
Ashcroft picked up his fork. Set it back down.
Victor leaned slightly forward. "Tell me, Edwardwhat does Miss Evelyn offer that warrants your academic detour?"
"She's competent."
"A low bar."
Ashcroft's eyes didn't flinch. "Not everyone needs to be bred to your specifications to be worthwhile."
Victor's brow lifted. "Is that defiance?"
"No. That's clarity."
The air tightened.
Victor's expression sharpened. "I expected resistance. I didn't expect regression."
"You expected obedience. And silence."
Victor paused. Then said quietly, "Do you truly believe Miss Evelyn will offer you salvation?"
"No," Ashcroft said. "But she doesn't ask me to earn my humanity."
That was when Victor sat back.
The silence this time was different. Not stretchedbut snapped.
Ashcroft stood. Pushed his chair in without sound.
"I'm not finishing this dinner."
Victor said nothing for a beat. Then:
"Edward."
Ashcroft stopped.
Victor's voice was calm, but it cut: "You're mistaking rebellion for identity. When this collapsesand it willyou'll realize what you abandoned."
Ashcroft turned his head slightly.
Then said nothing.
And left.