The past few days had left a heaviness in the house that Beck couldn’t shake. Myla moved through the halls like a shadow, quieter than usual, her smiles softer, weaker, like they took effort. And Hayden—fuck, Hayden hadn’t been himself at all since the alarm had gone off that night. He was present, sure, but withdrawn in a way that scraped Beck raw.

Beck hated silence. He hated tension even more. So when he walked into the kitchen that afternoon and found Myla measuring coffee into the ...