Ronan’s POV
The dishes were still clattering in my head even after Lisa dried her hands. The kind of sound that stuck, echoing, like maybe if I focused on it hard enough it would cover the memory of last night.
Didn’t work.
The toast tasted like ash in my mouth. Not because Heri burned it—she hadn’t, not really—but because every bite carried that question I didn’t want to touch. The blackout. The voice. The house bending.
I chewed, swallowed, smiled because Lisa was watching. But underneath? My stomach was a knot.
When she wasn’t looking, I slipped my phone out of my pocket. Screen cracked near the corner. Same as last night when I dropped it. I thumbed it awake. Nothing new. No calls. No texts.
Damon hadn’t called back.
Of course he hadn’t. He wouldn’t until he had something worth
