Lord Jethro knew he couldn't remain silent after stopping both Masha and Grey.
The air between them was already strained, and his grip on their hands meant nothing if he had no words to follow it.
He had to say something-something that made sense, something that explains why he did what he did.
But his mind was a storm, and he wasn't sure what could possibly make sense now.
He drew a silent breath, preparing to speak when Grey shifted again, his hand pressing against his stomach as he winced, this time unable to hide it.
Both Jethro's and Masha's attention snapped to him instantly.
"Grey?" Masha called, releasing his stillness and moving around to the other side of him. "What's wrong? How are you feeling?" His voice carried thick concern.
"I think I'm going to lose it again," Grey murmured. The words were strained.
Lose it again? Jethro wondered. Lose what?
"No, no..." Masha responded immediately. He turned and summoned a bed into the empty space beside them.
