PASCAL
The morning after the gala felt unnaturally still.
Kendra sat across from me at the breakfast table, a cup of tea untouched between her hands. She looked composed, but she was too still.
I had seen this kind of calm before, the kind that comes after a storm, when the air is clear but the ground hasn’t settled.
“You’re quiet,” I said finally.
She glanced up, blinking as if coming out of a long thought. “You’re observant.”
I folded the morning paper and set it aside. “How was the event?”
“Predictable,” she said. “Too much champagne, too little charity.”
“And Lorne?”
The pause that followed was telling. “Interesting.”
I waited.
She stirred her tea without drinking it, watching the spiral fade. “He talked more than he should have. About Ethan.”
My jaw tightened. “And?”
Her
