The house was quieter now.
It wasn't the quiet of peace so much as the quiet of absolute control.
Zhenlan sat in the corner of the living room with his back against the wall, his knees drawn up slightly, his arms resting across them. Chenghai sat to his left, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched while Lingyun was on the floor in front of them, his legs crossed, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. Yuche stood near the edge of the couch, his weight shifted onto one leg, his arms folded across his chest.
They had been there for hours.
The light outside the windows was dim—either very early morning or very late at night. Zhenlan couldn't tell anymore. The curtains were drawn, and the only illumination came from a lamp someone had left on in the hallway. It cast long shadows across the floor, stretching toward the kitchen.
They were the only ones outside of a room, and the house was full of closed doors.
