We sit for a while after that. The television murmurs. Gerald the Garage catches the afternoon light and Wren points out the leak stain, which does look a little bit like a waterfall if you squint. I hold her hand on top of the blanket and her fingers are warmer than they were on the stretcher. Stronger.
I stay until visiting hours end. When the nurse comes in to tell me it's time, I squeeze Wren's hand and tell her I'll be here first thing tomorrow. Before discharge. Before paperwork. Before she has to walk into a new life alone.
"You won't be alone," I say from the doorway.
She nods. Mouthingthank youas I wave.
I call Bane from the elevator. He picks up on the first ring.
∞∞∞
The estate is warm when Bane and I walk in. Margot is in the kitchen—not cooking, for once. She's at the island with a glass of wine, flipping through a gardening catalog, her readingglasses perched on her nose. Richard is beside her on the phone, ordering pizza.
"No anchovies," Margot says without looking up. "Richard, I'm serious. Last time—"
"One anchovy pizza. For the whole table." Richard winks at her. Into the phone: "Three large. One pepperoni, one margherita, one with everything. No anchovies."
He hangs up. Margot raises an eyebrow.
"I told her she's not allowed to cook tonight," Richard says, pulling his stool closer to hers. "She made cinnamon rolls yesterday morning, had stew going by noon, and I found her at six AM today planning a three-course dinner. The woman hasn't sat down in two days."
"It's called caring, Richard."
"It's called wearing yourself out." He takes her hand. Lifts it. Presses his lips against her knuckles—gentle, unhurried. "You need a night off. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor."
"I'm the man who married the most stubborn woman on the eastern seaboard. Close enough."
Margot's face softens. She leans into his shoulder. He keeps her hand, thumb moving across her knuckles, and for a second the kitchen holds something private and real—two people who chose each other and keep choosing, even when the house is full and the world is complicated and all four of their sons are in a world of complicated drama they couldn’t even imagine.
I watch from the doorway and feel something twist in my chest. Envy, maybe. Or hope.
Everyone is present at the dinner table tonight.
Richard at the head of the table. Margot on his left, me beside her, Bane on my other side. Atlas to Richard's right. AndZero—directly across from me, those dark eyes finding mine the second I sit down.
To an outsider, it looks like a family dinner. Five people and pizza boxes and paper napkins because Margot refused to dirty the china for delivery.
To me, it looks like a territorial formation. Bane on my left, close enough that I can smell his amber and sandalwood. Zero across from me, his gunpowder and coffee drifting over the open pizza boxes. Atlas at the corner of my peripheral vision, his cedar and leather a constant low hum underneath everything.
Three scents braiding in my nervous system. And I feel it. An acute awareness. My body tracking all three without my permission.
"How was the hospital?" Margot asks, sliding the margherita box toward me. She knows I went to visit a friend—the edited version, a girl from class who had an accident. "Is your friend doing better?"
"She's good. Getting discharged tomorrow."
"That's wonderful. You should bring her by sometime. I'd love to meet her."
"Maybe." I reach for a slice. My hand brushes Bane's reaching for the same box. A jolt of warmth that I cover by pulling two slices onto my plate.
Across the table, Zero is looking at me.
Not a glance or a scan. He's looking at me the way he looked at me in the hotel room—steady, unblinking, his dark eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that makes the air between us feel solid. His wine glass is in his hand. His body is perfectly still. He's not touching me. He promised he wouldn't, and apparently Zero keeps his promises the way he keeps everything—violently, absolutely.
But he doesn'tneedto touch me. His eyes are doing the work. They drop to my mouth. Linger. Move back up. Hold. Myhand pauses halfway to my mouth, pizza forgotten, and my skin prickles under his gaze like he's running a fingertip across it from six feet away.
He's keeping his word. And somehow that's worse.
