“What the hell is this?” he says.
Michael doesn’t stand.
That is smart. Standing too soon would turn it into the kind of scene Daniel knows how to perform against. Instead, your brother sits there with both hands wrapped around his coffee mug and says, “Breakfast, apparently. You should try honesty with yours.”
Daniel looks at you.
The instinct is instant and ugly. Not confusion. Not shame. Calculation. You can almost hear his mind reaching for the first lie that will fit the room. “You called him?” he asks, as if that is the real violation here.
“Yes,” you say.
He lets out a breath through his nose and gives a short, humorless laugh. “Of course you did. Why solve anything privately when you can run to your family and make me the villain?”
Michael’s hand tightens around the mug.
But before he can answer, you do. “You hit me,” you say.
