When Athena came back into the sitting room, the stillness hit her harder than the cool night air she'd just left behind. The lamps threw a soft glow across the walls, yet the room felt dim, muffled, as if it had been holding its breath since she'd stepped outside.
Antonio's words still clung to her ears, sharp as glass: It's not a relationship then. She tried to shake them off, but her chest was still tight. He had been unhinged in a way she had never seen before, and she couldn't help circling back to the question: was Ewan really enough reason for Antonio to unravel like that? To lose the restraint he always wore like a suit?
Or was this picture the real Antonio? In those few years they had spent staying together on most occasions, did she really see him, know him?
