You walked in and the air shifted. Kaige sitting on the couch, newspaper in hand, eyes locked on the print but clearly far from reading it. The silence wasn’t just cold, it was clinical.

“Who were you with?” he asked, voice low and firm. the words cut deep—like he already knew the answer, and hated that he had to ask.

You paused, the click of the door behind you sounding too loud in the quiet room.

He finally lowered the paper, folding it with unnerving precision, and looked up. His gaze wasn’t angry. It was worse—it was unreadable.