The morning light slipped through the edges of the curtains, casting a warm glow across the kitchen table where Anna sat, cradling a cup of coffee in both hands.
She'd learned by now that mornings here weren't chaotic or cheerful. They weren't rushed, but they weren't relaxed either.
Isla's soft hum as she padded in with her bunny. The sound of a spoon tapping against porcelain. The way the refrigerator hummed a little louder just before the ice machine clicked. The house ran like clockwork—even if the people inside it didn't.
Anna had grown used to the quiet, but she hadn't stopped noticing it. Especially not the kind that wrapped around Zane's absence. His presence was like a shadow cast without light—there, even when unseen. She always felt it. The weight of him. The pressure.
Today was no different.
Isla was already seated at the table, her tiny legs swinging beneath her chair as she spooned cereal into her mouth with careful concentration. She didn't speak, but she glanced at Anna often, eyes soft with comfort. Trust was slow, but it was happening.
And Mr Frost?
He was still unseen.
Anna's eyes drifted to the hallway. No footsteps. No clipped voice announcing his entrance. Just a stretch of silence that pulled like elastic.
She sipped her coffee slowly. Waited.
And then, finally, the door creaked open.
Zane stepped in.
Same tailored look, same sharp lines—but he moved slower today. Not sluggish. Just… distracted. His shirt was a deep gray, sleeves already pushed to his forearms, and his hair—usually neat, purposeful—was slightly tousled, like he hadn't smoothed it down after a restless night. He didn't glance at Anna. His eyes went straight to Isla.
The slightly vulnerable man from the previous night had disappeared.
"Good morning sir," Anna said, her voice soft but steady.
Zane nodded once. No words. No acknowledgment beyond the slight dip of his head as he moved toward the coffee pot like a man on autopilot.
Anna watched him pour a cup—no cream, no sugar, never anything but black—and lift it to his lips without ceremony. His movements were precise, efficient. But something about them today felt… off. Slower. Tighter.
She could feel it—his tension, heavy and taut like a pulled wire.
She glanced at Isla, who was quietly tracing circles in her milk with her spoon. Her wide eyes flicked from her father to Anna, uncertain.
Anna shifted in her seat. "I'm taking Isla outside today," she said, testing the waters. "She's been asking to play in the garden."
Isla's face lit up immediately. "Can we daddy? Please?"
It was the most she'd spoken in a single breath all week.
Zane's hand froze as he set the mug down.
His back stiffened. His shoulders rose just slightly—barely perceptible, but Anna caught it.
"It'll rain," he said, without turning around. His voice was calm. Controlled. But cold.
Anna blinked. "The sky's clear. Not even a breeze."
He still didn't look at her. "It'll rain."
Isla's expression fell. "But the sun's out…"
Zane turned then.
His eyes met Anna's, and for the first time that morning, he really looked at her. There was no warmth in it. No apology.
Just warning.
"No," he said. Flat. Final.
Anna's brow furrowed not willing to back down despite the warning in his gaze. "I don't understand. It's just a walk. She wants fresh air."
"It's not just a walk," he said quietly.
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but something in his face—something unreadable and dark—stopped her.
So she nodded instead. Not in agreement. In resignation. "Fine. We'll stay inside."
Zane didn't respond. He turned away again, but his posture stayed rigid. Eyes on the window. Coffee untouched.
The silence between them thickened.
Anna didn't know what it was about the moment—his sudden shift, the warning in his tone, the look in his eyes—but her instincts prickled. The way Isla immediately fell quiet again, her shoulders drawing up, her spoon stirring instead of eating.
The kitchen was too quiet.
And Zane was somewhere else entirely.
Anna stood, moved toward Isla, and gently tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "We'll find something fun to do. Rain or not," she whispered.
The girl nodded, but her earlier spark had dimmed.
Zane remained at the counter, unmoving. His jaw tight, eyes still trained out the window like he was watching for something. Or remembering something he didn't want to.
•
The rest of the morning unfolded in silence.
Anna brought out art supplies. Isla painted in careful, deliberate strokes while Anna told a silly story about a pirate who got seasick. Isla didn't laugh, but she smiled a little.
The sun stayed bright.
The garden outside looked peaceful, untouched.
But Zane never reappeared.
Anna made grilled cheese for lunch. Isla helped slice apples and carried her plate with both hands like it was an honor. They ate on the floor by the window.
And still, the storm never came.
The air outside was clear. Still. Too still.
~~~
Later, while Isla napped, Anna wandered the hallway outside her room. She should have rested, but something tugged at her. A sense of unease she couldn't shake.
She paused at one of the upstairs windows, fingers resting on the cool glass.
And then—movement.
At the far end of the garden.
Just a flicker. A shape.
Her eyes narrowed.
Someone—or something—was standing near the tree line, half-hidden behind the hedges, where the sunlight didn't fully reach.
Too far to see clearly. But enough to feel it wasn't right.
Anna's pulse picked up.
She leaned closer to the glass. Squinted.
The figure didn't move. Didn't step forward. Just stood. Still.
Watching.
She turned, about to call for Zane—but stopped.
He hadn't wanted them outside. He'd insisted. Like he knew something.
Her heart thudded. She looked back.
The figure was gone.
Vanished.
No rustle. No sound. Just emptiness where it had been.
Anna stood frozen for a moment, her hand still against the glass, breath held in her throat.
And downstairs, the house remained still.
She didn't know what she saw.
But something was out there.
And Zane…
Zane wasn't just cold. He was hiding something.