The transition from a prisoner to a spy requires a rearrangement of your own mind. You have to take the emotions that make you human—the raw, suffocating terror, the knee-jerk instinct to scream, the deep, oily layer of shame—and compress them until they form a stone-hard wall. Behind that wall, you watch and wait.
By Wednesday afternoon, I had gotten exceptionally good at building that wall.
I sat on the white leather sofa, the expensive Chopin book resting open on my lap.I was staring at the heavy, dark oak door of Logan’s home office down the hall. He had been in there for almost an hour, his low, rumbling baritone bleeding through the wood as he argued with his agent and the Tigers’ front office about a mandatory PR statement regarding his "extended personal leave."
“The narrative
