Knox's fingers drummed against the polished mahogany table in the study room, a habit he unconsciously copied from Azrael and a rhythmic reminder of the silence that had settled between him and the alpha.
The argument had left a fissure between them, one that neither had been willing to bridge. Azrael's retreat into silence only deepened Knox's frustration, a frustration fueled by the very love that should have brought them closer.
Like a cracked porcelain vase, their relationship became fragile, any attempt to mend what was broken, only ruined it more. Knox never wanted to risk it anymore, so he had been silent every day, tiptoeing around Azrael who clearly regretted yelling at him, yet not willing to approach and own his mistakes, afraid that Knox would probe again.
