The office was simple, yet bright—sunlight poured in through tall double-pane windows that lined the walls. One side of the room was occupied by an imposing, double-wide bookshelf filled with thick volumes, their spines worn and aged. Beside it stood a large ceramic pot holding a slender, leafless plant that resembled a miniature tree, more sculpture than flora. At the center of the room stood a broad, well-organized desk.
"Come, take a seat," Henry said, gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk before settling into his own. Though his posture remained composed, the fatigue in his eyes betrayed him. The streaks of white in his hair had spread further, and his once-warm hazel eyes looked dull and washed out. Faint dark circles under his eyes hinted at long nights with little or no sleep.
"I assume you're here about your mother, right?" Henry asked with a deep sigh. The situation had already spiraled far beyond his control.
