The deflection held for the moment. The crack under it was visible anyway—the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his hand stayed on her neck like the contact itself was a form of control he still needed, the absolute private ownership colliding with a reckoning he could no longer fully direct.

Victoria came down at a little after three.

She had changed into soft clothes. Her hair was damp from a shower. She looked exhausted and composed in equal measure, the same raw finished quality from the morning still present in her face. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at the two of them in...