Clara’s POV
He’s colder to me the next morning than he’s been in six years, and I have absolutely no idea what I did wrong.
His office looks the same as it always does, glass walls catching the early light, his jacket already hung on the back of his chair, but something about the set of his shoulders is different today, tighter, drawn in like he’s bracing against something only he can see.
“Good morning.” I set his coffee down on the corner of his desk the way I do every single morning.
“Thanks.” He doesn’t look up from his monitor. Doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t ask about my mother, doesn’t reference yesterday’s conversation, doesn’t do anything except type with a focus so deliberate it feels like a wall going up brick by brick right in front of me.
His jaw is tight, the muscle t
