Lucas let out a slow breath, more out of force of habit than frustration. The kind of exhale that said, if I speak, someone dies.
Probably both of them.
"Wonderful," he muttered, releasing Trevor's hand only to rake his fingers through his hair. "My husband is threatening the imperial line, and my brother is quoting constitutional law like it's a bedtime story. This is going great."
Sirius, clearly enjoying himself, reached for a second glass without asking. "You're acting like this isn't the most peaceful family gathering we've had in years."
"I barely know you. How much time passed from my adoption?" Lucas said, unbothered, his tone smooth as glass. "At most three months?"
Sirius's smile didn't falter, but something in his eyes shifted—just slightly. "Three months is enough in this house. Some people don't survive longer."
"That sounds like a threat," Lucas said, lifting his glass.
