Julian didn't say what was wrong. He didn't need to. He'd already understood there was a root sitting under the question, and that pulling at the leaves wouldn't get him there faster than just being present while she found her way to it herself.
Amara looked at him.
She didn't say Amira was here. Not yet. The words were sitting somewhere behind her sternum, ready, but she wasn't ready to hand them over, standing in the hallway with the twins still circling underfoot and a paper bag of churros somewhere being divided unequally.
"Okay," she said instead. Quietly. "You're right. I know."
Julian held her gaze a moment longer, long enough to tell her, without saying it, that whatever this was, he'd wait for it, and that the waiting cost him nothing.
Then he straightened and turned, calling toward the kitchen with easy authority. "Celia, bath time for these two, please, and a change before dinner."
