Page 117 of The Mourning Throne
He wasright.
Holy shit,he was right.
It wasconcern.
And this?
This was thesame expression.
And the closer he looked, it was thesame one from last night.
“I didn’t lose my touch,” Lex said under his breath.
Morgan raised his eyebrows.“What?”
“N—nothing. Nothing. Forget it. I’m thinking out loud.”
But now he could see it—so fucking clearly.
Morgan only softened when Lex shattered. Only let himself feelanything at allwhen Lex was gone or blinking underwater or seconds from being lost.
He loves me when I’m broken.
Lex gripped the card tight enough to bend it in half.
That… wasn’t fair.
But it was alsosomething.
A crack in Morgan’s armor. A peek inside his damn, messed-up head.
If Morgan only paid attention when he was in pieces—
He could do that. It wasn’t hard.
He’d done worse.
Lex didn’t let go of the card.
Not even when Morgan turned back to the bar. Not when he wrapped the tongue in a towel and slid it into a freezer bag like it wasfucking leftovers. Lex held the bent card in both hands, knuckles tight, breathing shallow like he’d just barely remembered how to do it.
This was the part where he was supposed to freak out, wasn’t it?
He could already feel it rising—tight in the back of his throat, dry behind his eyes. The edge of a tremble he didn’t try too hard to stop. That little flicker of panic, waiting to be nurtured into something bigger.
Something thatlookedreal.
He sat on the bed. Slowly. He didn’t flop back. Didn’t bounce. Let his knees fall open, card in one hand, the other pressed to his chest like he didn’t trust it not to cave in. He waited until Morgan looked back at him—just for a second—and dropped his gaze immediately.
“Who would—” he started softly, almost too softly. Just enough to carry. “Who would do this?”
Morgan didn’t answer.
So Lex curled a little tighter, the card crumpling under his grip.
“They know,” he added, barely breathing the words. “I mean… fuck. What—what are we supposed to—someone’s been…”
Stuttered words? Check.
