The river house kitchen was bright with late-morning sunlight. Light spilled across the marble island, warmed the hardwood floors, and reflected softly from the river beyond the windows. A half-finished cup of coffee sat beside a stack of restoration journals. Several artifact reports lay open beside Galathea's notebook, where she had already made three pages of observations without realizing it.
Across from her, Cael buttoned the cuffs of his shirt while reading through messages on a tablet.
The silence felt comfortable.
Routine.
Normal.
Something neither of them had experienced often enough.
Cael glanced up.
Then narrowed his eyes.
Galathea was reading reports.
Not casually.
Not for entertainment.
Working.
Dangerous.
"Why do you look productive?" he asked.
Galathea didn't lift her head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"That's never true," he shook his head, chuckling.
A smile appeared.
Small.
Suspicious.
Cael immediately regretted asking.
