Isaac came home late that night, long past the hour you’d given up on sleep. You’d been curled up in the living room with a book, the only light in the house spilling softly across the pages. The moment he stepped inside, you felt the storm he carried with him. He tossed his suit jacket over the armchair without a glance and headed straight for the kitchen, dropping into a chair as if the weight of the day had followed him home. His shoulders were tight, every movement sharp, and between bites of his late dinner he muttered under his breath, anger simmering too close to the surface to hide.