Lara returned to the living room and said her goodbyes.
Madeline, Logan, and Lucas walked her out, with reluctant steps.
Liam, on the other hand, had disappeared toward the guesthouse, chasing after Layla's storm.
The warmth from earlier had thinned out, replaced by that polite, careful quiet people wore when something unsaid still hung in the air.
Ares and Shay were already waiting for her in the car. The engine's revving betrayed the man's impatience, as he never wait on anyone. He was used to being waited on.
Outside, the January night air was crisp. Cold enough to bite.
The Norse estate lights glowed gold against the darkness, long shadows stretching across the driveway like reaching hands.
At the entrance, General Leonard stood with a small group of old military friends, their laughter low and rough, the kind carved from years of smoke and gunfire.
Boots. Broad shoulders. Hard faces.
Men built from war.
One of them stood slightly apart.
Artemio Fueguerra.
