Jeffrey was just about to step into the room when Philip came out. But his grandfather stopped him with a raised hand.
"You might want to let her think for a while," Philip said quietly.
Jeffrey froze, eyes locked on the closed door. If he stared hard enough—long enough—maybe he could see through it. Maybe he could see her.
He still wasn't sure what his grandfather was planning. He wasn't sure if he trusted it. But for once, he chose to listen.
Still, there was something he needed to say.
"I've decided to stay with her. In Rockchapel, I—"
Philip glanced around, eyes flicking over the hallway like a man seasoned in the art of being overheard. Then he turned and walked forward, wordlessly. Jeffrey followed. He knew that look. Privacy.
Philip led him to the library—a room untouched by the chaos of the Winchester household. A fortress of dark wood, scent of leather and parchment, and an almost sacred silence. No one entered here without Philip's permission. Not even family.
