Facade

Nicholas arrived late, pale and frail, leaning heavily on his cane as he moved through the crowd of black-clad mourners. His suit hung on his thinner frame, and his gait was now a faltering shuffle.

He entered the hall quietly, his eyes scanning the room until they fell on his father. Mr. Vials stood near the open casket, speaking with Mr. Cullens. Nicholas approached them, his cane tapping softly on the floor, drawing their attention.

"It's a sorry state," Mr. Vials was saying, his tone carrying the faintest hint of derision. "The people speak nonsense—Ah, Nicholas! Mr. Cullens, this is my boy."

Nicholas stopped before them, his face expressionless.

"Nice to meet you. Nick, was it?" Mr. Cullens extended a hand.

"Nicholas," he corrected, his tone clipped.

"Nicholas," Mr. Cullens repeated with a pleasant smile. "You've got a handsome boy," he added, glancing at Mr. Vials.