Blanche's POV
The red wine burned going down, but it didn't stop the tears. I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to calm the chaos churning inside me.
My phone buzzed. Quinton's name flashed on the screen—unexpected at this hour.
Well past evening. Too early for him to be suspicious, but I needed to pull myself together. I took a shaky breath before answering.
"Quinton."
Even with my best effort, something cracked in my voice.
He didn't call me out on it. "Pretty late to still be out. Camila's been asking about you."
The words hit like a punch. My own daughter barely noticed when I was gone, yet my niece cared enough to ask. "Quinton, Carry's sick. I'm staying over tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow."
His worry came through the line—those pauses where he almost spoke but held back. Finally: "There's a package at your door."
Vincent's bracelet. Right. "Could you grab it for me?"
"Sure."
Silence stretched between us.
