The rain had finally stopped by the time the Mercedes rolled up the sweeping, circular driveway of the Blackwood estate, but the damp chill lingered in the evening air.
Damon killed the engine. The silence in the cabin was profound, lacking the suffocating tension that usually accompanied their commutes.
He looked over at the passenger seat.
Leo was already looking at him. The boy's green eyes were dark and luminous in the shadows of the car, watching Damon with a quiet certainty.
"Ready to go in?" Damon asked.
"Always," Leo whispered, his lips curving into a soft smile.
They walked through the front doors, instantly assaulted by the rich, savory aroma of rosemary, garlic, and roasted beef. The house was warm, brightly lit, and nauseatingly normal.
Helen appeared from the dining room, wiping her hands on a linen towel. She was wearing a beautiful burgundy dress, her hair pinned up flawlessly.
