IRIS’ P.O.V
Blake was different.
Anyone else would have missed it. His steps were steady, his breathing calm, his face unreadable. To someone who didn’t know him, he looked normal. Quiet, maybe. A bit tired. But normal.
But I knew him.
And there was something missing in his eyes.
He smiled at the right times. He answered when spoken to. He helped Clara clean up the mess he made when he woke up. He even made a sarcastic comment earlier about the blanket being ugly.
But there was a weight in his movements that didn’t belong there. A heaviness that clung to him like a shadow only I couldn’t see clearly.
He hid it well.
Too well.
“Do you need anything?” I asked. He looked up from where he sat on the porch steps. His gaze went to me, steady and calm.
“No,” he said. “I’m good.”
Good.
