That night, Noah went to bed without protest for the first time since I’d arrived.
Adrian carried him upstairs after dinner, the boy already half asleep against his father’s shoulder, murmuring something about dinosaurs and snowmen and tomorrow. I stayed in the living room, curled up on the couch with the fire crackling and a book I still wasn’t really reading.
I heard Adrian’s footsteps coming back down the stairs twenty minutes later. Slow. Tired. The sound of someone who’d just put the most important thing in their world to bed and was now facing the emptiness of the hours until morning.
He appeared in the doorway, paused when he saw me, then continued to the bar cart in the corner. Poured himself two fingers of whiskey. Stood there for a moment like he was deciding something.
Then
