The dining hall was quiet except for the sound of Veyr's eating.

His dark hair fell loose against his face as he chewed calmly, the faint clink of his fork against porcelain echoing through the silence. Across from him, others carried on their talk.

The wide table stretched under the glow of the hanging lights, half set with untouched platters.

Their conversation was  more likely a discussion focused on the boy locked inside the guest room.

Meirei was the first to speak. His tone carried a polite smile, but his sharp eyes revealed his real edge.

"Once the boy eats properly," he said, tapping his index finger against the table for rhythm, the interrogation will be easier. At least he'll have the strength to answer our questions."

Veyr's hand paused mid-bite. His inner voice, cool and mocking, slipped into his own head:

"Ha, will he even eat the food that we've provided, huh? A low hum escaped him, almost a laugh.I've been watching him the whole time. That boy tries so hard to stay calm, to keep his head down." "Of course, he acts that way. Have you ever seen an Omega wake up in a stranger’s house and behave normally? No questions, no protests? Highly doubtful."

But his little reactions, those tiny shifts in his eyes, the tremor of his hands, they were ... amusing." Veyr smirked, pressing his fork into the food with slow precision.

That little mouth of his… I wonder what will spill from it if he ever dares to open it.

Meirei's voice cut through his thoughts again. "What do you think, Veyr?"

Veyr blinked, realizing he hadn't heard a single word. He shrugged, tone flat. "I don't know. You sort it out yourselves."

Cyrin leaned forward at once, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Really? You're just going to leave everything to us again?

First, it was that Enigma you dragged in here two days ago, and now this Omega.

That enigma is still sitting in the basement, by the way. Hasn't said a single word. And you know—only you can get words out of his mouth."

Veyr chewed slowly, as though the matter bored him. "Oh. Right. I forgot about him. Who was he again?"

Cyrin's chair scraped the floor as he nearly shot to his feet. "Are you fucking kidding me, Veyr? You forgot? Are you that detached from reality?"

"Ok, ok." Veyr held up his hand in mock surrender. "I remember now. I'll deal with him myself. Leave him alone for now."

Cyrin narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "I don't know about that little shit. He's a traitor. If you don't do anything, I swear I'll kill him myself."

"You'll leave him alone for now," Veyr said again, sharper this time. It was less suggestion, more command.

Meirei's calm voice slid in smoothly, his smile polite as ever. "Why are you getting so agitated, Cyrin? Don't you think it's more fun if we take things slowly?"

Veyr chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Now that..." he gestured lazily toward Meirei, "...is exactly how a man sounds when he’s been personally raised by me. You hear that, Cyrin? I’ve already turned your future into a lifetime of living hell."

Cyrin snapped his head toward him, frowning, “Why the hell are you making it sound like you raised him especially for me?” His tone was disbelieving, almost accusing. “He’s not my bride or anything like that, why the hell would my future be affected?”

Meirei's expression soured instantly. His lips curled in disgust, his gaze cutting to Cyrin like a knife. "What the hell, Cyrin?"

Cyrin lifted his hands in defense, smirking despite the tension. "What? That's what it sounded like!"

Meirie quickly cuts in with a pissed look, "What he meant was that we live on the same floor. That's what he meant by 'hell". Don't read too much into his nonsense."

Veyr leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only Cyrin could hear. "I meant exactly what you thought."

Cyrin's brows shot up, his face twisting into both shock and fury. "Shut the fuck up, you bastard!" He jabbed his finger across the table. "You're the same age as Meirei, twenty-five! When he was being raised, you were being raised too! Stop acting like his father!"

Veyr only smirked wider, eyes half-lidded in amusement. He popped another bite into his mouth like Cyrin's rage was a free show.

Veyr's lip curled into a mocking smile as he asked Cyrin, "And who do you think raised us, Cyrin?"

Cyrin puffed out his chest, pointing his thumb at himself proudly. "Me. Don't you get it?"

Veyr chewed slowly, his expression wrinkling into a faintly disgusted look, as if even the taste of his meal soured at Cyrin's theatrics. He glanced at him sideways, unbothered.

Cyrin, restless, slammed the table with his palm. "And another thing! Why did you make it sound like I have a thing for Meirei?"

Veyr's lips curved into a sly smile, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Don't you?" he asked, deliberately casual, his tone the kind that both teased and cut.

The air in the room shifted. Meirei, who had been quiet, suddenly gripped the fork in his hand so tightly his knuckles whitened. With a sharp thunk, he drove it into the wooden table, the metal quivering upright. His chair scraped back as he stood, eyes flashing cold. In his other hand, a knife gleamed as he pointed it directly at Cyrin.

"You wish," Meirei hissed. His face was taut with controlled rage, lips pressed into a hard line. "Don't even think about it."

Cyrin instantly raised both hands in his defense, blocking Meirei's attack he got up from his chair, though his smirk wavered at the glint of steel. "Whoa, hey...are you stupid enough to believe this jerk?" His voice cracked slightly, stammering. "I don't have thoughts like that about you! At best, I'd make you my slave, not my wife, alright?"

Meirei's grip on the knife tightened. His jaw flexed, anger pulling his features taut. His voice was low and trembling with fury as he took a step closer. "Say that again."

Cyrin's smirk faltered completely; he gulped. And sat down on his chair, leaned back, shoulders tensed, and muttered, "Alright, alright. I give up."

Veyr chuckled into his food, clearly entertained by the entire spectacle. He didn't look bored. His fork tapped against his plate, his eyes clammed up.

At the far end of the table, Leyla, who had been slouched in her chair, thumbs busy on her phone, finally lifted her head. Her screen still glowed with the game she had been playing, but her gaze drifted between Meirei's knife and Cyrin's pale face. Then, slowly, her eyes slid to Veyr.

Veyr glanced up at the same moment. For a beat, their eyes locked. No words were exchanged, but there was a spark of unspoken knowledge between them, like they both understood something deeper about the chaos playing out in front of them. Something neither Cyrin nor Meirei seemed to notice.

Leyla smirked faintly, then lowered her gaze back to her phone, as though the little drama at the table was nothing more than background noise.

The tension remained, thick and simmering. Meirei still stood, knife in hand, breathing heavy. Cyrin hunched back in his chair, muttering under his breath but careful not to meet Meirei's eyes. And through it all, Veyr continued to eat, calm and collected, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

For him, this was entertainment enough, at least till the so-called interrogation would begin.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Upper crest—

A glass of wine flew across the chamber, shattering against one of the standing men. Crimson splashed across the marble floor, dripping into the folds of the overturned rugs. The man staggered back as sharp shards glittered at his feet.

"You lost him? You fucking lost him? If even a single hair on Lioren’s head has been touched, I’ll show you just how much worse I can get.”

His face was twisted with rage. Blood dripped from his hands where the glass had cut him, but he didn’t even notice. His eyes burned, wild and feverish, as he shouted again. “I don’t care who dies. Bring Lioren to me.”

"Now get lost!"