ra

The music seemed to dip, conver

irs of eyes

ant note in their perfect symphony. My worn jeans and faded

d of the west wing, his face full of uncontrollable anger. He walk

his fingers digging into my arm. "Do you have to be the center of atte

of prison, and he knows better than anyone where to find the time and the

things went wron

him. My eyes scanned the opulent ballroo

grip tightening. "I'm talking to you! You

rd. Com

s a t

top with me. I turned my head and l

d the word, letting it h

denly faced with prey that wasn't actin

e small pocket of silence we now occupied. "In the last five year

one in a still pond. I saw th

"We..." He trailed off, the lie dying on his tongue

recitation of facts. "Not one call. Not a single message. I

s colder, more damning than any

oncile my words with the narrative he'd been fed. The narrative of a family that grieved for t

the tears from Isabelle. But he'd never ques

e stammered, the excuse sounding weak even to

exhibit. The movement was slow, deliberate. "One thousand, eight h

my gaze. "Tell me, Ethan. Were you waiting for me to reflect? Or were y

g strike, shattering the fl

he denial torn from him, raw wi

hall. The murmuring stopped. N

o

. I didn't press the a

aying what my lips did not: You see

llor. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. His stomach, hi

mine, unable to bear the

reckage of his own making. I moved toward the

n the board. A simple,

. A tiny, poisonous seed of guilt