Trevor watched her until the glass doors closed, then pressed his fingers into Lucas's hand, firm, steady.
Lucas didn't move.
His fingers stayed where they were, curled lightly beneath Trevor's, skin warm and still a little clammy. The weight of that touch should've been reassuring. Instead, it made something inside him unravel by degrees.
He didn't know what to feel. Not clearly. Jealousy had struck first, sharp and irrational, curling low in his stomach when he saw Vivienne's face. The way she carried herself. The way she looked at Trevor like she once had the right to. For a moment, it felt like history had returned just to mock him.
But Trevor's voice hadn't been warm. His eyes hadn't lingered. His tone had landed like glass underfoot, controlled but cruel in a way only familiarity made possible.
And that's what unsettled Lucas more than anything.
