~Claire
The house was quieter now. The warmth and laughter from dinner had long faded, replaced by a tense stillness that clung to the air like smoke after a fire.
Sage sat on the kitchen stool, his forearms resting on the counter as Gina cleaned his wounds. The cuts and bruises weren’t the worst I’d ever seen, but they were enough to make my stomach churn. Dried blood stained his knuckles, and there was a cut above his brow that still oozed a little when he moved too much.
I helped as much as I could, pressing gauze into his palm while Gina worked on his forehead. He didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound. Just sat there, letting us tend to him like it was nothing.
Like he was used to it. I wondered if this wasn't the first time it was happening.
Gina sighed, shaking her head as she wip
