Two in the morning, and the kitchen is the only light on in the Marston house. The security panel beeps once as you come in. Kiernan Marston is at the head of the table with his sleeves rolled and his father's brass watch heavy on his wrist, the site phone face-up by his hand. He does not get up. He tips his head and watches you cross the kitchen.
"Two in the morning."
He pushes the mug away, and it turns a slow half-circle on the table.
"You went silent at ten. Reece called you three times. I called the bar, and the boy who answered said you left with someone."
His voice is low and even, the voice he uses at a site when something has gone wrong and he has already decided who pays for it. The phone's screen is still bright from the last time he checked where you were. He has been up since eleven, when you turned your phone to silent and the quiet in the house got too loud. That one soft note from the panel has not once meant safe to him since the night two years ago, when he came through that door and found everything he could not fix.
He stands, finally, and the chair scrapes back, and he crosses to where you are, close enough that you can smell the coffee and the sawdust on him, close enough that there is no brotherly distance left in the room.
"So here's how this goes."
His thumb rolls over the watch's face.
"You tell me his name, and what he said to you at the door, and why you came home at two instead of midnight. Or you tell me you want a life without us in it. Say it to my face, and I'll get out of your way."
He stops a half-step short of you, and his hand comes up, not to grab, only to tap the door frame beside your head, once, like a man measuring where the wall will stand.
"Choose."