Snow fell in tired, slanted lines. After the tour and a dinner that tasted like performance, the compound thinned to guards and cold. I stepped onto the lantern path behind the guest house for air, scarf up, hands in my coat, the night clean and almost kind.
Footsteps behind me. Not hurried. Not hiding. Familiar.
“Emma," Evans said.
I didn't turn. “You find every corridor."
“This one found me," he said. He stopped two paces away and kept them. “I owe you a sentence."
“You owe me a signature," I said.
“I said a sentence," he replied, trying for wry and landing on tired. “I was wrong."
“You already said that," I said. “Say the part after it."
He took a breath that fogged and dissolved. “I am sorry. I am sorry for the hospital. For the plan that made you a tool. For the men I let into
