Page 112 of The Mourning Throne
Because if Morgan was done with him… if this was what that looked like…
Lex wasn’t sure what he’d do next.
Cleanup took longer than it should have.
It was normally such a quick process.
Put whatever they used back. Put Ollie back.
Done.
But everything—
It sounded too loud. Louder than it should have been.
Every scrape of Morgan’s shoes. Every soft, hiccuped breath Ollie made.
Even the sound of his own skin—thumbs rubbing against his palms—too sharp. Like someone was digging inside his skull with a butter knife.
Morgan didn’t ask what was wrong.
And Lex didn’t ask for a hug.
He should’ve.
He really,reallyshould’ve.
By the time they had all the parts squared away—cases shut neatly, every smear of red wiped clean, Ollie in the metal crate—his head felt too full. The air conditioner on too high.
Thoughts echoing in places they didn’tfucking belong.
If Morgan… if Morgan was done with him? Finished? That left him with nothing.
Lessthan nothing.
Alone.
Morgan said something, Lex didn’t catch what.
When he looked up, he saw Morgan holding up a cup.
The instant coffee maker already on. Bubbling away.
Lex cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’ll take coffee.”
Morgan frowned, didn’t move. Didn’t hand him the cup.
That wasn’t what he asked, was it?
Lex had guessed. Pulled shit out of thin air and hoped it was right.
God, say something already.
Maybe it was directed toward Morgan. Maybe at himself.
At this point? Didn’t matter.
When Morgan finally set the cup down, it was tea. Not coffee. Little paper tag dangling, wrapped around the handle twice.
