The violet eyes didn't look away as Dax closed the last meters between them. The staff fanned out a discreet distance behind him; only Tyler stayed close enough to murmur something about reports and security, a tablet clutched against his chest. Killian's expression was the same unreadable mask he wore at court, but Chris caught the faint flicker of his gaze sliding from the towel to him and back again.
It was late in the afternoon now. The long shadows of the hedges crossed Dax's elegant shoes as he walked, and the gold of the sun softened the harsh line of his shoulders. He looked tired but not diminished; if anything, there was a taut energy in the way he moved, like a bow just unstrung.
Chris's stomach was a hard knot. He told himself not to look at the blood, not to imagine whose it was. Yet when Dax stopped in front of them, a few paces away, the first words out of his mouth surprised even him. "Are you hurt?" he asked, voice low but carrying.
