Victor was in my room when I got back. He stood at the window with his back to the door, looking out at the eastern yard. His shoulders were set tight, as he had already played this conversation out in his head several times.
I closed the door behind me. The latch clicked.
He turned. His face was calm. Too calm. The kind that comes after someone has already pushed their first reaction down and locked it away.
I set Caleb’s document on the table.
“When did you know?” I asked.
He met my eyes. “Two weeks ago.”
Two weeks. The number landed heavily. Two weeks of late writing sessions, forged papers, and strategy meetings where Victor sat across from me, nodded at my plan, and gave me three good adjustments I actually used. Two weeks of his hand on the back of my neck at three in the morni
