Emile lingered near the corner of the hallway, half-hidden by the shadow cast from the wall lamp. He leaned slightly to the side, peeking toward the closed bedroom door, restless. His foot tapped softly against the floor. After a while, the door finally opened, and Dean stepped out, his expression unreadable, shoulders stiff as if he'd just walked out of a minefield.
Emile straightened immediately and walked over. "So?" he asked under his breath, not bothering to hide the curiosity buzzing in his eyes.
Dean shook his head as he exhaled. "Uncle was standing there," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't get a word out. He was… just staring at me. Looked gloomy as hell."
Emile clicked his tongue. He leaned closer, lowering his voice even more. "If Micah really was cross-dressing…" He hesitated, then continued, whispering conspiratorially, "Do you think that's why Uncle argued with him and then stormed off?"
