Cormac waited for her in the living room. When she came out, he didn't feel bad about rousing her from bed it seemed. His glare was open and unhidden. God, he was angry. She had no right. He didn't even have to keep reminding himself that to remember. To remember Malachi's words, full of pity and 'understanding', wanting to 'make friends' with him, pretending he 'understood' him.
"I saw Lestrange tonight," he said, his voice holding a dark edge. "He had some interesting things to say. About me. About my life. About my father." He paused, adding a sarcastic voice, "Oh and my fist might have landed on his jaw."