At the Mountain Retreat, the curtains were drawn tight, plunging the room into a dim twilight, with only a sliver of light peeking through the gap. Music played from a speaker in the corner, a woman's ethereal voice singing a slow, melancholic song on a loop.
*"No matter how far the birds fly, they always long for the south. The traveler's journey, at its end, is always home."*
Swain sat on the floor, his back against the cold wall. A bone-deep chill seeped through him, but he didn't move. The door creaked open. Swain's gaze remained fixed on some distant, unseen point, his eyes empty.
When Slater entered and saw the scene, a wave of sadness washed over him. Swain had been holed up in his room for days, refusing to see anyone, having his meals brought to him. It was as if he had completely cut himself off from the family. Zena had been stone-faced all week, and a heavy silence hung over the dinner table. His father, Thurman, hadn't been home in days. This wasn't a home anymore; it was an icebox.
Slater was sick of the oppressive atmosphere. He blamed Seren for returning and stirring up trouble in their once-happy home. He also blamed Swain, his usually steadfast older brother, for being just as unreasonable as Seren and escalating the conflict. He was here to convince Swain to back down.
"Swain," he said, stepping closer.
Swain didn't look up, only grunting a cold, distant acknowledgment.
"Just go apologize to Mom. Say you were wrong." In Slater's mind, that was all it would take to restore peace to their family. As for Seren cutting ties with them, so be it. She had always been disposable. Her three-year absence in Riverbend City hadn't caused a ripple; in fact, life had been more pleasant without her.
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Why is it stopped at 69.. please update...
Lovin' this!...