The phone call had ended somewhere across the city, but in the manor the air was warm, heavy with the faint scent of imperial iris. Victor hadn't moved far since Elias's confession. He'd simply…stayed, arms around him as if the statement had rearranged the gravity in the room.
Elias sat sideways across his lap again, the blanket forgotten on the floor, a pen lying crooked on the desk where it had rolled. His brown eyes flicked once toward the window, but Victor's palm at his back drew his focus back in every time, a slow, steady pressure like a heartbeat.
"Victor…" he started, but the word faded when the man's arms tightened around him, just enough to pull him closer until his temple rested against Victor's shoulder.
