Duncan did not wake her.
He had meant to. He had stood at the foot of the bed for a full minute with the news sitting in his chest like a stone.
He had faced armies and kings and the long grind of centuries. None of it had ever made his hands feel as clumsy as they did now. Then Julie opened her eyes on her own, looked at his face, and said, "Something happened."
It was not a question. It was never a question with her anymore.
"Aye, lass," he said. "Come downstairs. I'll make the coffee."
She came down in one of his old shirts with her hair tied up. The kitchen was still dim. Outside the glass doors the subdivision was beginning to wake.
A sprinkler ticked somewhere down the street, and a neighbor's rooster was complaining about the hour. Four hellhounds lay in a heap on the back lawn, as if they had never in their lives been anything but dogs.
