I looked at Stephen.
Stephen had gone absolutely still. His tablet was lowered. His head was tilted, his grey eyes locked on Juno with a laser-like intensity. His nostrils twitched. He smelled it too.
For a heartbeat, the room hung in a terrifying paralysis.
Juno didn't panic. He didn't flinch.
He moved his hand to the side table, grabbing the small silver pill case and shook one of the contents out. Dry swallowing the small white pill his throat working hard against the lack of water.
"Can we focus on the actual problem," Juno said.
It wasn't a question. It was a verbal flashbang. His voice was scraped raw, stripped of the melodic manipulation.
The scent cut off. The chemical suppressant slammed the door shut on the sweetness, replacing it with the sterile, metallic void of the blocker.
The moment passed, but Stephen and I knew what was coming, the only question was when.
Rowan blinked. She was too wrapped in her own fury to clock the biological shift, or maybe she filed it away in that terrifying brain of hers, in the 'unprocessed data/glitch' folder.
"The actual problem," Rowan hissed, her voice trembling, "is that I am standing in a room with three people who claim they want to protect me, but don't respect me enough to give me the truth."
"I need to call her," she whispered. "And then I need you to stay away from me."
She stormed out. The door slammed. The sound echoed in the sudden, heavy silence of the penthouse.
I looked at Juno.
He was staring at the floor, his hand gripping the mantelpiece so hard his knuckles were white. He looked pale.
"Juno," Stephen started, his voice cautious, probing.
"Drop it," Juno whispered. He looked up. His eyes were hard, warning us off. "Go to her. She’s shaking."
I didn't argue. I looked at the closed door.
"Go," Juno commanded. This time, he sounded like himself.
I went.
I didn't knock. The lock on her door was heavy, but I had the override key. I didn't use it. I just turned the handle. She hadn't locked it.
Rowan was sitting on the edge of the bed. She wasn't crying. She was shaking.
It was a full-body tremor. Her hands were gripping her knees, her back was rigid, and she was vibrating with a rage so potent it felt like it was heating the air in the room.
She looked up when I entered.
"I said stay away."
"You said a lot of things," I rumbled, closing the door behind me.
"I hate you," she said. It sounded likeI'm scared."I hate that you were right. I hate that I would have hesitated."
I didn't apologize. Apologies were for mistakes. Saving her mother wasn't a mistake.
"I know," I said.
I walked over to the bed. I didn't ask for permission. I sat down next to her. The mattress dipped under my weight, tipping her slightly toward me.
