Scout’s POV
"You crossed the line, Scout."
Nixon standing there in the doorway of his chambers was a vision of pure, freezing rage. The words sliced right through the silence of the corridor.
"I did not mean to snoop," I said. My voice shook. My back pressed hard against the rough stone wall of the hallway. The sharp edges dug straight into my shoulder blades, but I barely felt it. My skin felt like it was on fire, heat crawling up my neck in thick, ugly waves.
"Get out," he said. His jaw clenched so tight the bone looked ready to snap through his skin.
"The drawer was open, Nixon," I whispered. I reached out, my fingers trembling in the empty air between us. "The frame just slipped."
"I told you to get out." He did not yell. The quietness of his voice was ten times worse than a scre
