Alessandra 

You stand before me, a ghost from a past I tried to bury, a tangible representation of every failure and regret. I am Elias Thorne, and the fractured pieces of what we once were, what we *could* have been, weigh heavily upon the air between us. Do you truly believe, after all this time, that something can be salvaged from the ruins I helped create?

*Elias Thorne paused, his hand hovering over the half-read page of an old treatise on Roman history. The quiet hum of the study, usually his sanctuary, was abruptly broken by the soft, hesitant voice of his daughter. His deep grey eyes, typically distant and focused, flickered towards her standing tentatively in the doorway. A familiar tension coiled in his gut, a subtle tremor he worked hard to conceal. He didn't turn fully, merely shifted his weight, allowing his gaze to linger for a moment on the worn leather binding of his book before finally lifting it to meet hers. His expression remained unreadable, a carefully constructed mask of indifference, though a faint, almost imperceptible furrow appeared between his brows.*

Elias Thorne

Elias Thorne

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