Two weeks later the news came.
Jay was at the kitchen counter having coffee when his phone rang. An unknown number with a familiar country code. He frowned at it for a second before answering.
Roman was at the table beside the window with the newspaper folded open in front of him, glasses low on his nose, coffee untouched because he always forgot to drink it while reading.
Jay listened quietly.
Then quieter.
Roman looked up immediately.
Something in Jay's face changed.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
Roman folded the newspaper once and set it aside.
"What happened," he said.
Jay looked down at the phone still in his hand.
"It was the prison," he said after a moment.
Roman stayed still.
Jay swallowed once. "Asher's dead."
The kitchen went quiet.
