After grabbing his coat, Alexander followed Raphael downstairs.
Neither of them spoke much during the drive.
The city lights flashed past the windows while Alexander sat silently in the passenger seat, staring outside without really seeing anything.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at their usual place.
Raphael led him toward their private room.
The moment they entered, the conversation inside died down.
Several pairs of eyes turned toward Alexander.
Michael, Victor, Ethan
And a few of their other longtime friends.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
They had all attended Rosalind Blackwood's funeral.
They knew Alexander had been under immense pressure recently.
But seeing him in person was different.
He looked exhausted.
His face had grown noticeably thinner.
Dark circles sat beneath his eyes.
Even his usually impeccable appearance seemed neglected.
Victor was the first to recover.
"Alexander."
He stood up and gave him a brief pat on the shoulder.
