Nixon’s POV
"You avoided her like a coward," Christopher said.
His boots kicked up a cloud of grey dust in the empty upper hallway. He did not wait for me to invite him into the study. He just took up space. His massive shoulders blocked the light from the narrow window. His eyes were bloodshot from the same sleepless night that made my neck feel like a rusted hinge.
"Priorities, Christopher," I said. My voice was a dry scrape. I slammed the heavy oak door shut behind him. The click of the latch sounded like a bone snapping. "Did the sentinels move?"
"Ten trucks are loaded," he said. He did not blink. He just stared at the dark purple bruises under my eyes. "The most ruthless bastards we have. They want blood, Nixon. They think we are going to war."
"We might be," I said. I reached do
