The city skyline glowed under the veil of night, but within the safe house Ethan had relocated his family to, light meant nothing. It couldn't chase away the shadows creeping in from his past.
The twins were asleep, wrapped in soft blankets. Talia watched them from the couch, exhaustion making her limbs feel like lead. Yet her mind was racing. The message Ethan had received earlier—*You're not protecting them. You're leading them into the fire*—played on loop in her head.
She stood up and padded softly to the glass doors leading to the balcony.
Ethan was there, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair tousled from stress, hands gripping the railing as though it was the only thing keeping him tethered.
"You haven't moved in an hour," she whispered.
He didn't turn. "I can't afford to."
Talia joined him, wrapping her arms around herself against the breeze. "Talk to me."
