Iris’s voice was barely a whisper, but in the pressurized silence of the penthouse, it sounded like a glass vase shattering on stone.
“Yes… almost,” Amelia answered softly, her voice barely carrying across the expanse of the slate-gray carpet. “But he didn’t. And Iris… that’s not Leo.”
Her words weren’t defensive. They weren’t sharp with anger. They were simply, quietly true.
Yet, Spike felt the weight of them land directly in his chest like a delayed physical impact. The lazy, casual posture he had held by the window vanished. He straightened slowly, his hands sliding out of his pockets as his eyes locked onto the two women standing by the door.
The room plunged into a profound silence. It wasn't the awkward, stumbling quiet of strangers who had run out of things to say, but a he
