The door had barely closed behind Hades and Penny when the homestead went quiet in a way it never had before.
Colin stood at the window and watched their figures fade down the path, Hades's arm around his wife's shoulders, the pups trotting ahead. Penny had looked back once, at Riley, and that look had said more than any of her words. Then the trees took them.
The kettle was still on the stove. He had filled it an age ago and forgotten. The chamomile sat in its tin beside the sink, and across the room a glass of absinthe stood untouched on the windowsill, the green going dull in the lamplight. He had poured it while he tried to think, and he had not been able to lift it since.
Riley had not spoken since the door closed. She had gone to the sink, washed her hands, dried them, and washed them again. Now she stood with her back to him, both palms flat on the counter.
"Riley."
"Don't." Her voice was thin. "Not yet. Let me stand here a minute."
He let her.
