THE dining room was filled with the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain as the Escobar family ate. For the first time in months, Oswald sat with his parents, sharing a meal.

The tension that had initially clouded the air was slowly dissipating, replaced by calm, measured conversation. It wasn't exactly warm, but it was civil. Progress.

Lady Frances watched her son carefully. He looked tired, but not just physically. There was something deeper.

Still, she smiled, trying to keep the mood light.

"Oswald, dear, I must say..." she began, delicately dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Your house has lost its charm."

Oswald arched a brow, setting down his...