IRIS
Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.
Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.
We all sit.
Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.
“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a
