Amaris jerked back, her hand pulling away as though burned. Her face flushed crimson and she shot a frantic glance in my direction.
I shut my eyes quickly, forcing a fit of ragged, gut-wrenching coughs to cover the awkward tension.
"Alaric, are you alright?"
Amaris rushed to my side, her cool hand resting lightly on my back as she gave it a soft pat.
The faint scent of tobacco lingered on her, a scent that mirrored the one that clung to Silas.
"It’s just my old illness. Nothing serious," I rasped, my voice weak, barely above a whisper.
"Then rest up. Amaris and I have things to discuss outside."
Silas rose from his seat, his voice carrying an air of authority as if he were the rightful master of the house.
Amaris glanced at me briefly before turning away, her steps light, almost skipping with excitement.
I narrowed my eyes, watching them through the small gap, every movement under my scrutiny.
Silas turned back, his gaze slithering over every inch of my home like a filthy autumn insect.
A smug, unrestrained smile twisted across his face, one of ownership and satisfaction.
Amaris’s retreating figure trembled slightly, whether from excitement or shame; it was hard to tell.
But this was my home.