The stylus slipped from Leo's fingers as if it had simply forgotten how to stay.
It did not clatter. It did not draw attention. It struck the beveled edge of the tablet and rolled once before settling near the toe of his shoe. The screen dimmed a few seconds later, untouched.
Angelika did not look down.
She remained slightly bent at the waist, one gloved hand resting lightly on the back of Lily's chair, her posture arranged to suggest kindness rather than intrusion. Her voice was low enough to sound intimate but not secretive.
"Your father loved you very much," she said gently. "He worried about you constantly."
Lily's eyes stayed on her face, searching for something she did not have the vocabulary to name. The searching tightened her chest—not pain, but a crowded feeling that made it harder to breathe. She knew the words were wrong but could not find where.
