By morning the red lightning had faded to a distant, silent pulse on the horizon, but in Aiden's flat the tension had merely transmuted. The carpet was pitted with old cigarette burns and the remains of takeaways from a year past, but today the living room looked almost ceremonial: the coffee table moved to the kitchen, every lightbulb unscrewed but one, a towel shoved under the door to block any mana leakage from the neighbor's cat, which Aiden was convinced would report them to the Association if it could.
Callum stood in the dead center of the carpet, his arms loose at his sides, his face pale enough to nearly match the whiteboard Aiden had propped against the wall. If the kid was scared, he hid it better than most. Maybe that was the benefit of watching your older brother almost die several times in a row.
"Again," Aiden said, voice low. He stayed on the sofa, a meter away, cradling a mug of instant coffee that was three parts sugar and two parts resignation.
