The Mercedes glided into the garage just after midnight. The house was dark, save for the porch light Helen always left on—a beacon of normalcy that felt increasingly irrelevant to the two men stepping out of the car.
They walked to the back door in silence, the cool night air doing little to dissipate the warmth of the steakhouse and the car ride. Damon unlocked the door, punching in the security code with practiced ease.
"Go straight up," Damon whispered as they entered the mudroom. "Try not to wake your mother. She needs her rest."
Leo nodded, slipping off his shoes. He looked at Damon, his green eyes luminous in the shadows. "Are you going to be okay? You still have the Tokyo files to sign."
"I'll handle them in the morning," Damon said. He loosened his tie, pulling it free from his collar. "With the corrections you made."
Leo smiled, a soft, sleepy expression that made him look deceptively innocent. "Goodnight, Damon."
He turned to the stairs.
"Leo."
