Marlowe
Whispers followed me through the den all day, curious instead of cruel, and somehow that was worse than the cold shoulders had ever been — every glance a question, every pause in conversation as I passed a silent invitation to speculate about exactly what I meant to their President.
I found King in the garage that evening, later than either of us should have still been awake, both of us apparently drawn there by the same unspoken need to be somewhere the whispers couldn't follow.
"You started something today," I said, settling onto the bench across from him.
"I finished something. There's a difference." He didn't look up from the part he was cleaning, unhurried, deliberate. "Reid's whisper campaign doesn't get to run this den. Not on my watch."
"You could have just told him to
