The next question cut through the buzz like a knife. Max's voice was steady, but every word landed hard. “Did you have a hand in blindfolding Mr. Pointus?” he asked.
For a moment the world stopped. The flashes of the cameras seemed louder, and even the wind held its breath. Jeremiah’s face changed. I could feel it — a tiny tremor in the way his jaw worked, the shallow quickening of his breath.
My heart beat in my ears. I wanted him to break. I wanted him to say something—anything—that would make me feel the flood of satisfaction that had been building inside me for months.
The reporters swarmed. Mics thrust forward, recorders clicked, and phones rose like a wall of small, shining suns. Jeremiah stepped back, eyes narrowing as if trying to place Max in some line of sight he could not re
