They went downstairs the way Silas ordered—Troy first, Alex after, space held between them like a drawn line.
Bridget was already in the living room. She had picked her scarf up from the upstairs floor and was holding it in both hands like something that might keep her upright. Her eyes were red. She still hadn’t found a full sentence. When Alex entered, she looked at him and then away, as if the sight itself asked a question she couldn’t survive answering cleanly.
Silas closed the living room doors. The sound was soft and final.
“Sit down,” he said to Alex.
Alex sat on the edge of the sofa. Troy remained standing near the fireplace until Silas’s gaze pinned him.
“You will pack a bag,” Silas said. “Tonight. You will leave this house. You will not sleep under this roof again until I de
