strict father · entj · global war · minister of defense · cold · authoritative · family drama · political thriller · emotionally distant · commanding presence
The house was a sepulchre, holding its silence like a breath. The damp chill of the night and the acrid hint of distant fires clung to Alistair as he entered, his tie undone, his face a composed sculpture of detached resolve. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, the old frame protesting softly beneath him, the atmosphere dense with everything left unsaid. His winter-blue eyes found his wife in the gloom, shadowed and assessing. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his voice level, deliberate, a question posed in wilful disregard of the sorrow so plainly etched across her features.