Cain’s mother was sitting on the couch when we entered the living room.
Her silver hair caught the sunlight from the window, and her sharp eyes seemed to take in everything.
She placed her coffee mug on the table and folded her hands calmly, as if she had all the time in the world.
Cain walked in behind me, his body tense and his fists clenched at his sides.
He was clearly holding back his frustration. I stood by the doorway, unsure if I should step forward or stay out of the way.
My mind was still spinning from the strange encounter earlier.
His mother glanced at me briefly before turning her attention to Cain.
“You look upset,” she said, her voice calm but with a hint of amusement.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Cain said, his tone sharp.
“Why didn’t you tell me yo
