Belles pov
I knew something was wrong the moment I saw Jasper that morning. He sat at the edge of the dining table, his coffee untouched, his eyes fixed on the grain of the wood as though it could give him answers. Jasper wasn't the type to sit still like that. He was a man who carried his days with precision, who moved through life as though time itself bent to him. But that morning, he looked older, heavier, as though something had bent him instead.
"Jasper?" I asked softly, sliding into the chair across from him. "You're awfully quiet. Did you sleep at all last night?"
He blinked slowly, then looked up at me. The sharpness in his blue eyes was dulled, and that unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. "I didn't," he said finally, his voice low. "Not really."
I frowned, pushing my plate away. My appetite was gone the moment I heard the weariness in his tone. "Tell me," I pressed. "What's going on?"
