Micah walked to the window, each step slow and deliberate, as if the act itself was a way to stall his thoughts. He pushed the curtain aside and peered down into the cold night air. Clyde was still out there, standing on the deck like some statue placed for decoration.
Micah pursed his lips. The man wore only a shirt, sleeves rolled up, the pale fabric catching the faint flash of moonlight. His coat was nowhere in sight.
"For how long does he plan to stay there?" Micah mumbled under his breath, the words escaping in a soft puff that fogged the glass for a second.
Irritation filled his mind. No, not just irritation. It was angry, yes, but the kind of anger sharpened by guilt. Clyde had kept things from him, serious things, and that betrayal still pained him. But alongside that was this stupid thought that maybe he had gone too far. He had snapped at Clyde too harshly.
