The next morning broke clear and cold, the kind of morning that usually promised calm. But calm was a lie, and I’d learned better than to trust it.
The cabin smelled faintly of coffee again, but it wasn’t comforting this time. It was bitter, cloying, like smoke that lingered after a fire.
Daniel was already at the table when I walked in, dressed immaculately, his tie knotted, his shirt pressed. His eyes lifted to mine and then slid away, back to the papers spread across the table. Not one word. Not even a flicker of warmth.
Adrian appeared from the hallway, his jaw still bruised, his eyes sharp. He stood just inside the kitchen doorway, not moving closer, like he was gauging the distance, weighing the danger.
The silence between them pressed down on me, thick and unbearable.
“Coffee?”
