"Tristan," Cade called out, stopping his retreat. "You've done a lot already. The warehouse may be the key."
Tristan smiled sadly. "We don't know that."
"We don't not know it either."
He nodded and murmured a quiet 'okay'. When he climbed into bed, he tried to close his eyes, but the day's rollercoaster of emotions left him too agitated. From Cade's wood-chopping adventure to their quiet, almost reverent walk in the woods, to accepting that he was helpless to do anything to find his sister, his brain couldn't focus on or process any single thought or emotion, leaving him reeling, unbalanced.
Fractured.
He rolled onto his other side, forcing his eyes shut to block out the light, wishing he could just as easily block out his mind and his heart.
Tristan was pulled from a dreamless sleep by Cade's rough voice. "Tristan? We should probably have dinner soon."
He rolled onto his back and blinked away the sleep. Checking his phone, he realized he had slept for a couple of hours.
In the kitchen, he found Cade at the table, his phone in hand.
"Any word from Annabeth?"
"No. Sorry."
Tristan wondered what the other man had been doing for the last couple of hours. Checking the perimeter? He thought about making a joke or prying Cade for information but figured it would take more energy than he could muster.
Instead, he asked, "What should we have for dinner?"
"I don't really care."
"Since you cooked the last couple of nights, I could make dinner tonight."
Cade glanced up from his phone with one raised eyebrow. "What are you going to cook? You can't even boil rice."
"Rude!" Tristan gasped, only mildly insulted. "Besides, I told you, I can make pasta and microwave things."
"I guess pasta is good."
"I'll make it then." Tristan got to work, not thinking too carefully about what he was doing since he'd made this meal a hundred times for himself and Natalie. As he absently stirred the sauce, he heard a plop just before he felt the sting of pain.
"Fuck!" he yelled, snatching his hand from the stove and seeing a dollop of scalding red sauce burning his skin.
"What happened?" Cade jumped from his seat.
"I burned myself."
"Put it under cold water."
"It's fine," Tristan insisted as he reached for a towel to wipe off the mess.
The other man growled as he grabbed Tristan's hand and forced it under the cold water.
"It's fine, Cade. Just a little burn."
A dime-sized patch of skin already flared an angry red. "You're burned. It's not fine."
"Everyone burns their hand cooking one time or another. It's not a big deal."
Cade handed him a clean towel and told him to sit as he disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned with a first aid kit, Tristan protested, "It's really not that bad."
"Shut up. At the very least, you need some ointment. It will hurt worse later."
