"What?" Cecilia said, her voice sharp with surprise, like she'd bitten into something that wasn't supposed to bite back. "What did you just say?"
The conference room fell silent, its stark lighting casting harsh shadows across the faces of everyone present. Professor Nero stood at the head of the table, his expression carefully neutral, hands clasped behind his back—the practiced pose of someone accustomed to delivering unwelcome news to volatile recipients.
"We've been granted a three-day extension by Lord Daedric," he repeated, slowly and clearly, as if announcing a weather delay and not an unfolding diplomatic mystery. "We'll resume investigations for three more days, which will culminate in a formal festival hosted by the Palace."
Silence.
The kind that isn't born from awe but from suspicion—heavy and charged, like the air before lightning strikes.
