~RYLAND'S POV~
I found her before the morning meal, before most of the packhouse had stirred. She was already at the small table in her room with a cup of tea she hadn't drunk yet, her hair still loose.
She looked up when I came in but didn't speak.
I closed the door and sat across from her. Not beside her. Not standing. Across, because the news I was carrying needed space around it, not proximity.
"Matthew is dead," I said without preamble. No softening cause she didn't need the version that came wrapped in careful words.
"Self-inflicted. Before Cade could get to him.
Before anyone could ask him a single question."
She didn't move. She just sat there with both hands wrapped around the cup, staring at the table between us like she was looking for something in the grain of the wood that might make this make sense.
The silence stretched. I watched her face.
Whatever was moving behind her expression was moving deep.
