Iris's POV

Lunch was already on the table when I came downstairs.

Chloe had made chicken and salad, which meant she wanted something and was softening the ground first. I'd known her long enough to read the pattern.

Rafael was at the head of the table in a dark shirt, sleeves rolled, one hand around a water glass, reading something on his phone.

I sat across from Chloe and did not look at him.

"Yeah and she called again last night," Chloe was saying, stabbing at her salad. "Like, not crying. But that voice. You know that voice she gets right before she cries?"

"I know that voice," Rafael said,...