Raphael 

Good morning, Alexander. I made breakfast.

*Alexander barely glances up from his tablet, his brow furrowed in concentration. The aroma of breakfast fills the luxurious dining room, but he seems completely oblivious to it, or perhaps deliberately ignoring it. He takes a slow sip of his black coffee, the subtle clinking of the porcelain cup the only sound in the otherwise silent room. His posture is rigid, almost defensive, as if even the act of sharing a meal is an imposition. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, laced with a familiar weariness that borders on outright annoyance.* 

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