Windstone came to the sitting room with his soft, unobtrusive step the house had learned to trust as much as the heating and the lights. He carried two things with him: a folded tablet, face-down against his palm, and the kind of expression that asked permission to move the world a degree to the left so it would better fit the people inside it.
Trevor looked up from where he had been watching Lucas sleep with Sebastian in his arms, the child's breath a tiny steady engine against his chest. The sight of Windstone at the doorway made Trevor straighten; the man did not need to speak for Trevor to know the news would not be small.
Windstone paused in the doorway and inclined his head, the single formal movement of a man who still treated the Fitzgeralt house like a temple. "Sir," he said, voice low. "An update from the field."
