Downstairs is quiet. I make coffee because my hands need something to do and stand at the counter watching it brew.
They come down one by one. Finn first, then Malcolm, then Rhys. Nobody says much. Malcolm checks his phone. Sets it down. Checks it again. The second time Finn puts his hand over it on the table. He doesn’t take it, just covers it, and Malcolm leaves it there.
That's the whole morning. Just that.
The empty chair sits at the end of the table and we orbit it without meaning to, the way you leave a bruise alone.
At nine-fifteen Malcolm's phone rings.
He has it to his ear before the second ring.
"Chase,” he says. "Tell me where he is."
A pause. I can hear Chase's voice but not the words.
Malcolm's jaw tightens. "I don't need to talk first, I need the address—"
Another pause.
"Chase—"
Longer pause. Malcolm's expression shifts. Something changing in it that I can't read yet.
"Fine," he says. "Come."
He hangs up.
We all look at him.
"He found Alex," Malcolm says. "But he wants to talk first."
"About what?" Finn asks.
"He didn't say." Malcolm sets the phone down, his face blank. "He said there was an emergency meeting this morning about Alex's case."
Everything goes quiet.
"What kind of meeting," I say.
"He didn't say," Malcolm says again. "He's on his way."
The forty minutes until Chase arrives are the longest forty minutes I can remember.
Malcolm lasts about eight of them before he picks up his phone and tries to call Chase back. Finn takes the phone. Malcolm tries to take it back. Finn holds it out of reach with the patience of someone who has been doing exactly this for years.
"Give me—"
"No."
"Finn—"
"He's on his way. Calling him won't make him drive faster."
"It'll make me feel better."
"It won't." Finn puts the phone in his own pocket. "Talk about something else."
"There's nothing else."
