The silence is deliberate.
It hangs between us like a held breath, thick and waiting, pressing against the skin. No one dares break it first—not me, not Moon, not Angel. It stretches, unfurls, settling over us like dust in a forgotten room, like the weight of everything left unsaid.
I sit on the edge of the couch, my hands resting loosely in my lap, my fingers still. My gaze drifts to the couch opposite mine.
Moon leans back into one corner, one leg crossed over the other, an arm draped lazily along the backrest. From a distance, he looks completely at ease. But the tight set of his jaw and the faint tension in his shoulders betray him.
Angel sits at the opposite end, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass wall, watching the city lights instead of the Alpha sharing the couch with him. His expression is calm, unreadable.
The space between them isn't large, but it feels impossible to cross.
