THE EDGE OF SIGHT

At 8:30 PM, Vincent brought a tray to Julian’s bedroom. On it rested a pot of chamomile tea, two porcelain cups, and a plate of shortbread biscuits.

"I know things have been tense between us, Jules," Vincent said softly, sitting by the edge of the bed. He poured tea into Julian’s cup, his sleeve subtly blocking the angle as he added three drops of the clear liquid from the vial. "I just want you to know... everything I did was to protect this family."

Julian sat against the headboard, his dark glasses reflecting the bedside lamp. "Do you remember the summer we spent in Maine, Vincent? When Dad taught us how to navigate by the North Star?"

Vincent paused, his hand hovering over the cup. A brief flicker of genuine sorrow crossed his features, quickly snuffed out by greed and fear. "I remember. You were always better at reading the sky than I was."

"Dad used to say that a man who loses his direction loses his soul," Julian said quietly.

"Drink your tea, Julian," Vincent urged, pushing the warm cup into Julian’s hands. "You need to rest."

Julian brought the cup to his lips, inhaling the faint, sweet almond scent of the toxin. With a sudden, deliberate convulsion, Julian pretended to have a muscle spasm, spilling the scalding liquid across Vincent’s lap and over the oriental rug.

"Damn it!" Vincent cursed, jumping up from the bed, wiping the tea from his trousers. "Can't you do anything right?"

"I'm sorry!" Julian gasped, breathing heavily. "My hands... they're shaking. Please, Vincent, don't leave me alone."

"I'll get a clean cup," Vincent said through gritted teeth, storming out of the room.