Luther's POV.
The moment I stepped across the threshold, I felt a deep, chilling coldness. It wasn't the ambient temperature of the room; it was a profound, unnatural stillness that seemed to actively suck the warmth and life out of the air. The room was silent. A deafening, absolute silence.
Alicia wasn't in the room. I had expected a temporary absence; I had seen the sheer, defiant fury in her eyes when she stormed out earlier. She had discovered the truth too soon.
I had planned to sit her down, and manipulate the truth—or, at least, manipulate the context—because as much of a sick bastard as I was, I didn't want to hurt her. The situation wasn't favorable, but I was confident I could have manufactured an explanation, a narrative that could make her understand, perhaps even forgive
