Page 86 of The Mourning Throne
It was the delay.
The hesitation.
The fact that Lex hadn’t immediately returned to him.
There had always been rhythm.
Morgan hurt. Lex watched. The aftermath was theirs.
But this time, something had shifted. The balance was off. The tempo was wrong. Lex hadn’t come running back, high on adrenaline, speaking too fast, needy in that way that always ended with Morgan’s fingers in his mouth, his voice silenced.
And this time? Morgan didn’twantto silence him.
He wanted to listen.
Wanted Lex to talk until he collapsed.
Wanted to say—you were beautiful.You did everything right.
But the bed was still empty.
Morgan catalogued the stillness.
No footsteps.
No creaking floorboards.
No familiar weight tilting the mattress.
Just absence.
He didn’t move.
Because if he did, if he moved from the bed, he wouldshift the dynamic. He would make a decision for both of them. That was his power. That had always been his power.
But he didn’t want to wield it.
Not for this.
His hand curled into the sheet.
He focused on the lack of breath. The absence of sound. The empty air where Lex’s voice should’ve been—too loud, too fast, too full of things no one else ever said out loud.
But there was nothing.
And Morgan hatednothing.
His thoughts sharpened. Surgically clean.
He replayed Lex’s face when he’d locked the cage. The way he crouched. The tone he’d used when he told Ollie not to cry.
Too gentle.
Too soft.
It wasn’t wrong.
It was—stunning.
