Vael's POV
Sunlight spills across the kitchen floor, bright and sharp, cutting through the haze of last night. I stand at the stove, watching the eggs sizzle in the pan, the smell of butter and toast filling the air. It smells like a normal morning. It smells like everything is fine. But when I turn around, carrying two plates, I see Lirien sitting at the table.
He's wearing an oversized sweater. It swallows him up, the soft gray wool hanging off one shoulder, exposing the dark purple bruise on his collarbone. His hair is a mess, but his eyes are fixed on the wood grain of the table. He isn't looking at the food. He isn't looking at me. He's just sitting there, wrapped in that heavy silence that comes after something breaks.
I set the plates down gently, trying not to make a sound that might startle him. Scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, toast cut into triangle, simple things. Comfort things.
"Eat," I say, keeping my voice low. I sit across from him.
