The mansion was quiet.
Quinlan sat on the edge of the rooftop with his legs hanging over the side and his hands resting at his sides. Below him, through the open window of the master bedroom, the sound of breathing drifted up. Soft, uneven, layered. Blossom's tiny exhales. Vex's deeper rhythm. Seraphiel's slow, exhausted pulls of air from a healer who'd pushed herself past empty.
Quinlan looked up.
The sky over the stronghold was cloudless. Stars scattered across it in dense clusters, and the moon hung low and full, casting silver across the rooftops and the treeline beyond. A beautiful night. The kind of night where the air smelled clean and the world pretended nothing was wrong.
He didn't move.
His posture hadn't changed in over an hour. Back straight, shoulders locked, hands still. His platinum eyes reflected the moonlight but gave nothing back. No warmth, no restlessness, no flicker of the man who'd kissed Vex's hair and stroked Rosie's curls hours earlier.
