Frost painted the Snow Manor windows in pale blooms of white, and the winter sun filtered weakly through the ice. Even in daylight, shadows clung thickly to the halls as if refusing to leave.
Jasper walked through them like he belonged in their darkness.
His boots made no sound on the polished stone floors, his expression unreadable, but the air around him vibrated with something colder than the morning chill.
He found Edward exactly where he expected him leaning against the courtyard wall, polishing his sword like it was a leisurely pastime rather than a weapon that had cut down hundreds.
Edward didn't look up when Jasper approached.
"You're stomping around today," he drawled. "Did the wife cry again?"
Jasper's jaw flexed. He stopped only a few steps away.
"You spoke to her."
Edward smirked at the blade's reflection. "Should I not?"
"You told her more than you should have."
A shrug. "She asked. I answered. Maybe you should take that up with her instead of me."
