The morning light that filtered through the high windows of the estate was cold, grey, and entirely devoid of warmth.
Dean hadn't slept. He had spent the night staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to the agonizing silence of the house. The leather day-collar still rested around his neck, but it no longer felt like an anchor or a mark of protection. It felt like a band of ice choking the life out of his throat.
At seven in the morning, Dean walked down the grand staircase, his heart performing a desperate, erratic rhythm against his ribs. He needed to hear Kellan’s voice. He needed to know that the nightmare in the study yesterday hadn't erased everything they had built.
He found Kellan in the kitchen.
The sight made Dean freeze on the threshold.
Kellan was dressed in a raz
