Rage. Horror. Grief. Regret. All of these, he tucked as small as they could get and locked them away. What remained was a carefully carved puppet, strings invisible against his sister’s backdrop.

Aslan made an uncomfortable sound at the back of his throat. That came naturally. It might have been the most honest syllable in his entire vocabulary these days.

“He jumped at me, and …” Aslan raised his broken glass with an exasperated look. “It got messy. I apologize.”

Technically true.