The war stuck to Dante along with the smoke of fire.
Whenever he came home from sessions with his commanders, he brought the war into the house with him, even when he didn't have blood on his hands that night. The mood around him became tense and explosive, as if the house were bracing itself for the mess he brought home.
Isla first noticed it in the manner in which he walked. He took short strides, his shoulders were twisted, and his jaw was set in a fury he could not control. He raged at the servants for things they did not do, slammed doors too hard, and trailed glasses half-full and broken behind him. He was not angry at her per se, not ostensibly, but she still took the brunt of his fury.
She had stumbled over him late at night in his office. Curtains were pulled, lights dim, and papers strewn about his desk like victims of a fight. He was standing by the window drinking a glass of whiskey, staring out the window into the night as if he could hold it back.
