I knew something was wrong the moment I walked through the door.
Adrian wasn’t pacing like usual.
He was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him answers.
My mother was next to him, and that alone made my stomach knot.
The two of them hadn’t been in the same room since the funeral.
I froze in the doorway and dropped my purse with a dull thud.
“What’s going on?”
Adrian stood slowly. So did my mother.
She looked tired. Older than I remembered. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek bun—neat, not a strand out of place—but her eyes told the truth.
“Lyra,” she said gently, “sit down.”
I didn’t move.
“No. Just say it.” My voice cracked at the edge. “Just say what you’re going to say.”
Adrian looked at me then. His jaw clenched.
“You need he
