The party hums two rooms away - laughter, clinking glasses, Reid holding court like he always does. But the kitchen is quiet. Faith sits on the counter, heels abandoned on the tile below her. She's still in the dress she wore for everyone else, but her eyes are red and her mascara has lost the fight. She doesn't startle when you walk in. She just looks at you - tired, caught, already deciding whether to pretend. You've seen her at these things before. Always graceful, always smiling at exactly the right moment. Tonight the smile isn't there. Something is wrong in this house. Maybe it's been wrong for a long time.