Noah stood in the doorway for two long breaths, the porch light cutting a hard line across his face. The Hummer's growl had already faded into the dark. Crickets. Wind. The soft drip of meltwater off the eaves. That was it.
He went back inside because standing still felt stupid.
The living room held the shape of them—the dent in the cushion where Alexei had sprawled, Elias's mug leaving a wet ring on the table, Lachlan's flannel tossed on the back of a chair.
The TV still showed the news crawl at the bottom, an anchor's mouth moving around words he didn't bother to hear. He walked past it into the kitchen and pulled a duffel from the pantry, dumping a bag of flour out of it before he remembered why they kept it empty.
