“No,” she said immediately, pointing the spatula at him like that might stop it. “Absolutely not.”
A couple of his brothers groaned.
“Come on—”
“You just got here—”
“That’s not even fair—”
His father came in from the hallway, catching the tone more than the words. He crossed the space and set a hand on Law’s shoulder, solid and steady.
Law ended the call and lowered the phone, exhaling quietly through his nose.
“I’m sorry, mamma,” he said softly.
His mother was already moving, closing the distance and wrapping her arms around him.
“We hardly see you,” she said into his shoulder. “I don’t like this.”
Law’s hand came up automatically to her back. “I know. I’ll come back soon.”
The contact anchored him again, brief but solid.
Around them, the noise picked back up—complaints layered over each other.
“Every time—”
“That’s messed up—”
“Who do we complain to—”
Boston made a show of shaking his head. “I blame Viper,” he said, pouting.
Rip didn’t even look up. “You blame everyone.”
“Because everyone’s usually wrong.”
That pulled a quiet thread of laughter through the room.
Law’s father gave his shoulder a firm pat before stepping back. “Be careful out there,” he said.
Law nodded once.
Then he looked at Sage.
He didn’t create distance. Didn’t step out of it like the moment had already passed. Just turned slightly, enough that his attention settled there fully.
“When do we head out?” Sage asked.
“Within an hour,” he said, low, easy.
Sage’s mouth tipped at the corner. “That’s bad timing.”
“Yeah.”
Law let that sit for a second.
The kitchen, the noise, his family—all of it still there.
