Clyde hugged Micah tightly, adjusting the boy's weight in his arms. He stepped forward, took two steps down the corridor, then stopped short as if something occurred to him mid-motion. "Oh right," he said, turning his head slightly toward the boy trailing behind, "Could you grab the flower and the box from the passenger seat?"
His voice was calm, but there was a trace of fatigue buried beneath it.
Darcy, who had been walking just a step behind, blinked. He turned around without saying anything and walked toward the car. He gently picked up the delicate bouquet and small white box, handling them more carefully than he expected of himself, clutching both to his chest, he followed Clyde into the building.
Inside the elevator, there was silence.
Micah had gone completely limp in Clyde's arms. His head was tucked beneath Clyde's chin. The contrast between Micah's flushed cheeks and Clyde's composed face felt jarring, like two separate worlds colliding in a mirrored reflection.
