She squeezed my hand, her expression losing its humor. “Thoren, they need to know.”
I looked away, but she continued before I could argue.
“There are people missing spouses. Children missing parents. They do not know whether those people are being released, charged, or kept somewhere indefinitely. Some of them may not even know whether their loved ones survived the operation.”
The guilt already tightening around my chest dug deeper.
“I should have gone before now.”
“Yes,” she said gently. “But you cannot repair forgetting them by continuing to delay.”
I looked back at her. “And what happens if you have another episode while I am hours away?”
“I am not going to Blackstone with you. I am not getting out of bed except to use the bathroom, and I promise I will not be difficult about the
