The crackling fire cast dancing shadows across the worn leather of the armchairs, the only light in the room besides the flickering glow of the wine glasses in their hands. Ariadna, her dark hair pulled back in a loose braid, leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the flames. Carl, his face etched with the lines of a life lived on the edge, mirrored her posture, his eyes reflecting the fire's warmth.
"Benedict Rochester is getting nervous," Ariadna said, her voice a low murmur. "The whispers are starting to reach him. He’s tightening his grip, but that's exactly what we want."
Carl nodded, taking a slow sip of his wine. "He's like a cornered animal, Ariadna. Desperate, unpredictable. But we've got him on the ropes."
"Paulina, though..." Ariadna frowned, her brow furrowing. "She's a wildcard.
