The silence in Byron's study was profound, broken only by the faint crackling of the logs in the fireplace and the ragged, terrified breathing of Brook, still collapsed near the body of his former master. Evan lay still, his eyes wide and vacant, the dark stains of blood stark against his pale skin, a grotesque mask of his final moments.
Elias stepped silently back into the room, his gaze sweeping over the scene with professional detachment. He looked from Evan's body to the whimpering wreck of Brook, then turned his impassive eyes to Byron, who sat calmly on his seat, swirling the last drops of the amber liquid in his glass – the clean one.
"My Lord," Elias asked, his voice low and steady, betraying no emotion, "what are your instructions now?"
