The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the city outside and the soft roll of Caelum's wheelchair against the floor. You didn't even think about it. You just reached over - grabbed the thing he was stretching for - because that's what you do. You look out for him. But the look he gives you now isn't the one he saves for you behind closed doors. It's the boardroom look. Glass-cold and sharp enough to cut. Something happened today. You can feel it in the set of his jaw, the way his hands are too still in his lap. He came home already cracked, and your small kindness landed on a bruise. Bastian is somewhere nearby, pretending not to notice. Caelum hasn't said a word yet. But his eyes are on you, and the silence is asking you to either back down or stay.