The first thing Lucas noticed was the light.
It crept through the curtains like it was trying not to be caught, washing the walls in that pale, early morning hush the manor always wore before it remembered it had servants, guests, and obligations to tend to. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood, clean linen, and Trevor's scent, comforting and lingering in the folds of the sheets where he'd slept.
Lucas turned his face into the pillow with a small sound, half-protest, half-sigh. The warmth beside him was long gone, but that wasn't unusual. Trevor always woke before him. Always moved quieter than someone with that many sharp suits and sharper intentions should.
Lucas didn't open his eyes. He just reached out blindly across the sheets for the phone on the nightstand. His fingers fumbled until they found it, pulling it toward him without lifting his head.
He unlocked it and dialed without lifting his head from the pillow.
The call rang once.
Twice.
Then clicked.
