BLAKE’S P.O.V.
The silence stretched so long I could hear the clock ticking somewhere down the hall. Clara’s soft sobs filled the room, uneven and raw. Irene didn’t move. She sat on the couch, legs crossed, arms folded, eyes fixed on nothing. The tension was heavy, pressing against my skin until breathing felt like work.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. Brawn paced restlessly inside me, uneasy. He didn’t trust her, and honestly, neither did I.
Irene. The woman who shouldn’t be here. The one Iris had mourned for years. Now she sat before me, alive, or something close to it, calm and composed, like she had every right to be.
My voice broke the silence. “You know, for someone who just crawled out of a grave, you look surprisingly fresh.”
Her gaze snapped to mine. “Flattery, Blake? T
