Page 45 of Lords Of Ruin: Christmas

It slices straight through me. I breathe once to level out, then head down the hall. The house is too quiet under the fairy lights, warm and dim and brittle.

At the bottom of the stairs, I pause with my palm on the banister until my chest stops clawing at itself. Then I unlock the deadbolt and open the door.

Cold air hits my throat like ice.

“Mrs. Carter,” I say, stepping back to let her in. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

Willow’s mother stands there in a long black coat and a neat scarf. Hair pinned back, everything precise. Her expression is composed, not cold.

She nods once. “Damien called me from the hospital,” she says softly. “How is Penny?”

“Stable,” I say. “They’re keeping her overnight. Willow and Damien have been there since two in the morning.” I pause, then add, “They’re exhausted.”

“I’m sure they are.” Her eyes flick over me, sharp, assessing. “And you?”

“I’m fine.” Automatic. Useless. “The kids are in the playroom. We put on a movie.”

Her expression softens. “Which one?”

“Something with elves and explosions.” The corner of her mouth twitches.

She steps inside, heels clicking lightly on the floor. “I’m glad they have you here, Cast,” she says. “You’ve always been good at keeping things from falling apart.”

I let out a quiet sound. “Not sure I’m nailing that tonight.”

“You’re holding the line,” she says simply. “That matters.”

Cartoon laughter drifts in from the playroom, bright and too normal against the rest of the house. I shut the door against the cold and glance up the stairs. Vincent’s shadow is still there, just out of sight.

She follows my gaze but doesn’t comment. She never does. “I’ll check on the children,” she says, adjusting her scarf. “You should sit. You look like you haven’t stopped in hours.”

“I haven’t,” I admit.

“Then stop for a few minutes,” she says, and moves down the hall.

“I told Damien I’d make sure Willow gets some rest when she gets home,” I say.

“She listens to you,” she says.

My ears go hot. “Sometimes.”

Before I can say anything else, footsteps sound on the stairs.

“Is that Mrs. Carter I hear?” Vincent calls as he comes down, wearing that pretty, practiced smile.

Her expression warms slightly. “Vincent. You look tired.”

“And you look exquisite,” he says, giving her one of his soft winks. “I didn’t expect you to come so quickly.”

“Of course I did,” she replies. “My granddaughter’s in the hospital, and my favorite boys need me.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

She heads toward the playroom. As she disappears down the hall, Vincent stays in the foyer, hands curled tight at his sides, face smooth again.

“I have some meetings to attend to,” he says without looking at me. “So I’ll stay here with the kids.”

“Of course you do,” I mutter, grabbing my coat off the hook.