Marlowe
Grant sat with his own devastating realization for a long while, the kitchen quiet except for the occasional shift of his weight in the chair, and I understood, watching him, that whatever came next needed to come from him rather than any further coaching from either King or me.
"I think I need to go see her," he said finally. "Tonight. Not tomorrow, not once I've rehearsed something perfect. Tonight, while the honesty of just having admitted this to myself is still fresh enough that I can't talk myself out of actually saying it properly."
"Are you sure that's wise," King asked, gentle but genuinely concerned. "She asked for time. Showing up unannounced might read as pressure instead of honesty."
"Maybe." Grant considered this seriously, weighing King's caution against his own
