Point

The click of my heels against the polished marble floor echoed in the silence as I followed the butler, my discordant melody thrumming within. Each step closer to Zephyr's study felt like a descent into the heart of the unknown, the anticipation a drumbeat against my ribs.

Finally, the heavy oak doors swung open, revealing a scene straight out of a power play fantasy. Zephyr sat at the head of a mahogany table, bathed in the warm glow of a chandelier, her expression unreadable. Around her, eleven figures, their faces cloaked in shadow, occupied plush armchairs, their silence heavy and watchful.

The air crackled with unspoken tension, a discordant prelude to the unknown melody about to unfold. Zephyr's eyes met mine, a glint of challenge in their depths. "Ben," she said, her voice cool and measured, "welcome. Please, join us."

She gestured towards an empty chair at the table, the unspoken command hanging heavy in the air. I hesitated, the melody within me a cacophony of defiance and ap
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