THE ROOM felt smaller than it had ever been.
Not physically. The walls were the same dark wood, the same old scars carved into them from years of men who drank too much and lived too hard. The couch still sagged in the middle. The single lamp by the window cast the same low amber glow.
But the air itself felt heavier, as if truth had weight.
Lily sat on the edge of the couch with her hands folded together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Dried blood still stained the cuff of her sleeve. She had not noticed when it had happened, or maybe she had and simply could not bring herself to care.
Jeremiah stood across from her, leaning against the opposite wall. His jacket was off now. His shirt clung faintly to his shoulders, darkened in places where Ayden’s blood had soaked through earl
