She didn't fall apart in the lobby. She didn't fall apart on the way home. She sat in the back of the car with Rowan beside her and watched the city through the window and kept everything held together with the professional discipline she had been applying to difficult things since she was twenty-two years old and watched the first case she had ever built fall apart in a courtroom.
She held it together through the front door of the penthouse. Through the corridor. Through the kitchen, where she filled a glass with water and drank half of it and set it on the counter.
Then she sat on the kitchen floor.
Not dramatically. Not because her legs gave out. She simply chose it, the cold of the tiles, the low perspective, the particular grounding quality of a surface that was exactly what it app
