The apartment felt impossibly heavy that evening, every shadow seeming to stretch longer than it should, every quiet tick of the clock louder than normal. Sheila sat on the couch, shoulders hunched, staring blankly at the floor. The muted glow of the city lights through the blinds did little to lift the gloom that had settled over her.
Atticus stood near the window, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight, eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the skyline. He hadn’t turned to look at her for minutes, though Sheila could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her. Neither of them had spoken since the press conference that morning—a day that had seemed to unravel everything they’d worked to protect.
Carter had been relentless. Every angle of their interactions, every stolen glan
