That night, Lucas doesn’t come home until late, and Misha and I eat dinner by ourselves. I put on a happy mask for my brother, but I know he senses something off. It’s a relief to usher him out of the house with a batch of leftovers for the guards; more than anything, I want to be alone to lick my wounds.
I’m already finishing my shower when Lucas returns. He enters the bathroom just as I’m stepping out of the stall, and without saying a word, he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me to the bedroom. His face is hard, his gaze shuttered as he walks, and the old unease slithers through me. I don’t think he’ll truly hurt me—physically, at least—but that doesn’t lessen my anxiety. Lucas in this mood is unpredictable, and I’m barely keeping myself together as is. For a brief, insane moment
