The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a silence that felt heavy, like a wet wool coat.
Adrian was scooping chocolate ice cream into bowls. Sacha was sitting on the counter, his legs swinging, recounting the battle at the gate as if he were a seasoned war correspondent.
"And then Mom held up the ring like Shing! And the Bad Man yelled!" Sacha mimicked Julian's angry face. "But Dad was bigger."
Anaïs leaned against the granite island. She wasn't eating. Her eyes were fixed on Bastian.
He was standing by the sink, gripping the edge of the countertop.
He hadn't taken off his coat. He hadn't loosened his tie.
He was staring at the faucet, but he wasn't moving.
"Bastian?" Anaïs asked, her voice low.
Bastian blinked. He turned his head slowly.
To Adrian and Sacha, he looked fine—maybe a bit pale.
But Anaïs saw it.
The grey tint to his lips. The way his hand was trembling against the marble. The sheen of cold sweat on his forehead.
