aped America's wars, peaces, and betrayals for a century. The air

arp as his grandson's. His "warmth" was a weapon, hi

She spoke only when spoken to-short, polite, utterly hollow answers. She was the prettiest decoration i

action, howev

he room. No Jo

ng. "Joseph is finishing a pho

workaholic,* Drew

eps. Heavy.

grand s

was choke

lked

rt undone. This casualness was not relaxation-it was

himself was the abyss. His eyes were the color of a frozen lake-the kind you think y

oseph Ba

art skipp

espect. His voice was a low, steady barito

gaze fe

. Shy. Humble. Meek. A perfect, r

those three seconds, every layer of her disguis

e look

sat beside him.

she stayed silent. When it turned to flower arranging, she spoke-offering hollow comments

, her nails du

ked at her. His expression was unreadable. Not interest. Not disgust. Not

d: the way he held his fork, the precise fold of his napkin, the arc of h

ffocating. And it

will never

and "composure." Arthur Sanchez lo

e, Drew wa

use and rose from the table. She needed to escape to the restroom. She needed air.

of relief rising in her chest, she did

back of her neck. The sensation of being watched

if she could outrun that silent scrutiny, that