The morning after I swallowed my own darkness, the sun didn't rise. It poured.
A cold, relentless winter rain hammered against the slate roof of the estate, washing away the last of the ash from the garden. Inside, the house felt different. The air was no longer buzzing with the frantic, golden static of my anxiety. It was still. Heavy. It felt like the air inside a cathedral or a bank vault, secure, but imposing.
I sat at the head of the dining table.
I had never sat at the head before. That was Adrien’s spot. But when I walked into the room this morning, Adrien had silently pulled out the heavy oak chair for me and then sat to my right.
It wasn't a submission. It was an acknowledgment.
“Pass the butter,” Lucian said, his voice unusually subdued.
I picked up the butter dish. As I pa
