The atmosphere inside the Council of Vitae was a simmering cauldron of tension, heavy enough to choke on. Every step echoed through the cold, sterile corridors like a warning bell. The harsh, unforgiving white light bathed the long hallways, and even the air seemed to throb with anxiety. Every worker who crossed paths with Salvador and Modi quickly diverted their gaze and moved out of their way as though proximity alone might trigger something volatile.
Modi walked with his usual air of calm detachment. His expression was unreadable, a practiced mask he wore so effortlessly. Beside him, Salvador looked like a storm barely contained in human form. His fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically at his sides, his teeth grinding with such force that the veins in his neck strained. His jaw was set, lips pressed into a thin line, and his brows were furrowed so deeply it seemed they might never smooth again.
