Marco's POV
The house was unusually quiet. The kind of silence that weighed heavy, like a low fog pressing down on every corner. My boots echoed on the marble floor as I moved cautiously, following the faintest sounds from the kitchen.
I wasn't expecting to find Leona there. I hadn't seen her since late afternoon, and with the tension between us, I thought maybe she was avoiding me, like she always had lately. But there she was, framed by the soft golden light above the gas, slicing fruit with slow, deliberate movements.
She glanced up when she heard me come in, eyes wide for a heartbeat before narrowing. That flicker of defiance I'd seen in a long time was back, sharp and unyielding.
"What are you doing?" My voice was low but firm, carrying the undercurrent of every suspicion and worry I'd bottled up these last few days.
"Preparing something to eat," she said simply, her tone even but cool.
