Celebration Time

[Sören]

There was something off about him. Sören idled his glass after the half-hearted toast, contemplating that sense of oddness like a sour aftertaste. Letters notifying Declan's death had been sent, and Sören had assumed Dane to be among the recipients. It was a task he had directed but not overseen. An oversight? Or something more purposeful. The divide could not be too deep if Dane had benefited financially, though talk of money Sören frankly found distasteful. He shrugged it off.

"Through his work with the British Museum, mostly. I recall we first met in Denmark. I deal in art and artefacts, so our paths crossed frequently. It was why we went to India."
His single hazel eye contemplated the nuances in Dane's expression; his intonations, his choice of topics. Sören's interest was mild, like watching fish darting in a tank, and yet he still dissected the faint stirrings of curiosity. The brothers were little alike, or so it appeared thus far. "He didn't mention you much. I knew you existed."