The heavy mahogany door swings open gently on its hinges. He strides into the house with a burst of frigid air, his boots making a heavy whump sound against the ceramic tile floor of the foyer. He is tall and well built, proud of his blue uniform.  Andrew’s dark hair is kept military short, thinner on the top and going silver at the temples to match his neat mustache. His tan face is flushed from winter’s kiss. He closes the massive door with a gentle snap. He unclips the silver badge on his chest, tossing it and other pocket junk into the brass tray on the shelf next to the coat hooks. He shrugs out the dark blue overcoat and hangs it up. He kicks his boots against the floor, shaking off the remaining snow that has not melted in the past minute. At last he removes his sunglasses, dropping them on the shelf next to the tray where their ebony lenses catch the dying rays of sunlight through the windows that flank the door. He turns towards the sitting room with an intense expression on his face and a cool cerulean gaze.

Katrina sits in the leather arm chair nearest the ancient stone fireplace. Her pale skin reflects the orange and golden tongues of the flames. She is a ginger-haired porcelain doll with rosy color on her cheeks. Andrew regards her for a moment, noting the dark patches under her dull jade eyes that may very well be the bruises he first mistook them for. Tonight she is dressed in a scarlet sheath, probably the most expensive piece of clothing that she still owns. Her lips and stilettos match the color of her dress, her skin pales that much more by comparison. She turns her face up to him as her skeletally thin hands attempt to remain quietly folded in her lap. Katrina studies him warily, waiting.

With the slight tremor that he can see as he moves closer, he wants to ask if she still plays, if she still hears the melodies in her head or if they are clouded over forever; he will not ask, as this is not the time. He gives her a weak smile and his arm moves as if to reach out and touch her face; the movement is aborted by the lost look in her eyes.

“Katrina.” He says her name quietly, the word a stranger in his mouth, on his tongue. He can feel the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead from the heat. The fire is roaring beside them, almost covering the sound of his deep, gentle voice.

Katrina turns towards Andrew again, a single tear escaping her eye. It trickles down her face, reflecting the vermillion glow of the dancing flames. In that instant, all of his questions about her have been answered. Nothing has changed. He pulls his hand back as if he has been burned. Her expression changes to one of fury. He steps back away from her; back towards the muted darkness of the room.

“You think you are so much better than me!” She spits as she stands, an accusing finger pointing at his heart, pale lids narrowed over smoldering green eyes. She wobbles on her ridiculous shoes and he fights the urge to reach out to her again. She has lost so much, perhaps this time she will be able to get it back together. Katrina drops back into the chair, the old leather and wood giving a slight groan. She throws her arms into the air and he can see clearly the scarlet marks that prove her sins. He has always known; of all the things he makes right every single day, he cannot help her.

Andrew holds his hands at his sides, his fingers clenched in silent fists. She will never ask for help. He can only hope that he has managed to keep the worst of them off of the street for her sake. She may have nothing, but he has no one. Save for the crackling of the burning wood and their breathing, there are no other sounds of life in the room.

It lasts a little while; this truce between them. After tonight they can go their separate ways, and he never has to set foot here again. They both gaze at the fire: Katrina beside it, taking as much heat as her abused body can soak up; Andrew standing back in the cooler shadows, preferring to enjoy the beauty of the dancing flames from a safer distance.

The truce is broken when a large man in a black three-piece suit, complete with gold pocket watch chain, enters the room. He eyes both of them, noting their distance even now when many people choose to stay close. He nods to himself and gestures towards them, calling them to the study.

“It is now time to read your parents’ Last Will and Testament…” he says, barely concealing his smirk. Fighting siblings always make these things more interesting, especially when there are large sums of money involved.