We worked another hour.
Laughter slowly replaced tension as we found ridiculous old tour photos, Cal with neon green hair, Holland passed out face-first into a pizza box, Jake attempting to crowd-surf in a venue barely big enough to hold thirty people.
I told him about Eli’s latest obsession with circuit boards and how he was currently convinced he could build a robot that sorted socks.
Kei laughed softly. “Kid’s a genius.”
“It felt easy.”
Too easy.
When Cal walked in at seven-thirty, I knew instantly.
He stopped in the doorway.
His expression stayed neutral. Controlled. Practiced.
But his eyes…
His eyes went flat.
“Hey,” he said.
Kei looked up casually. “Hey, man. We’re just going through archives.”
Cal nodded once. “Cool.”
He walked past us without another word. His footsteps were steady. Measured. Controlled.
That scared me more than if he had snapped.
Kei glanced at me. “He okay?”
“He’s tired,” I said.
We both knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
Kei helped me finish organizing the stacks. He left twenty minutes later, hugging me quickly at the door.
“Take care, Hads.”
“You too.”
The house felt colder the second it closed behind him.
I found Cal in the nursery.
Standing at the window. Arms crossed. City lights flickering against the glass.
“You’re home early,” I said softly.
“Meeting wrapped fast.”
Silence stretched between us, tight and uncomfortable.
“You two looked cozy,” he said finally.
“We were sorting photos.”
