Crying is cathartic, it seems, because something that had been held taut since this morning has finally relaxed.
I am no longer bracing for what comes next, because I know, deeply, that I am safe. I also know there is no one here who is going to expect anything of me. No papers to sign, no swabs to endure, and nothing to dredge up another painful memory.
Although, after a sideways glance down the breakfast bar at Landry, I cannot be entirely certain of that.
"I'm going to change," Landry says, sliding off the bar stool. "Mostly so Grey can stop crying at my trousers."
"How noble of you," I reply, now looking at him properly.
He laughs.
"There she is," he says quietly.
Not for the first time.
In combat, it had sounded like challenge.
Here, in his parents' kitchen, it sounds like re
