The next day.

Mr. Charles Lancaster's study was filled with the smell of cigars and old wood. The light from the desk lamp created long shadows on the wall. Damian stood with his back to his parents, who sat opposite each other on the sofa, his eyes staring out the large window at the darkening garden. His suit hung loosely on his shoulders, his tie was loose, and his hair slightly messy.

"I'm not going to continue the trial for Alva's custody," he said suddenly, his voice calm but firm.

Margareth, who had been sipping tea, put down the cup with a loud noise. "What do you mean, Damian?" she...