Declan's POV:
By the time I came downstairs, I had buried that message deep where it belonged. Locked away. Invisible. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
Lyla looked up from the dining table, where she had been quietly reviewing my rehabilitation notes. Her eyes lingered on my face for a second longer than usual, studying me with that familiar mix of concern and something softer I couldn't quite name.
"What?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"You look pale, Declan."
"I always look pale," I said with a weak attempt at a smile.
"No, this is different."
I reached for my keys on the counter, avoiding her gaze. "I'm fine."
She let out a long sigh, the kind that told me she wasn't buying any of it. "You're really committed to that line, aren't you?"
"It's a classic," I replied
