The house had the brittle hush of something on the verge of shattering. It was the kind of silence that made every small sound—a glass settling on a coaster, a footstep on polished tile—feel like a verdict. I woke with Conley’s scent still etched into my hair and the echo of his last words circling in my head: I choose both of you differently. The sentence could have been a blessing or a threat. Either way, it was a map I hadn’t agreed to read.
Morning routines were sharper than usual. I moved like a woman keeping a ledger: coffee, the schedule, the edits for the foundation release. Even the house seemed to wait for something to tip. Angel was in the conservatory, her voice carrying the quiet calm of someone who had decided to be useful instead of combative. She addressed staff with the t
