The observation room smelled of burnt coffee. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Beyond the one-way glass, Dante paced a grey interrogation room with his jacket off and his tie loose, turning at exactly the same place on every pass.
Sweat had darkened his collar.
Julian stood beside me. He didn't press me about the east wing or the medical file. He watched Dante and waited.
"He's asked for his lawyer and for you," Julian said. "Sienna Rossi is two floors down. She's already talking."
He turned from the glass. "You can watch from here or go in. Your choice."
In the fire, Dante had watched me through glass and ignored every blow I struck against it.
I refused to finish this conversation behind another window. This time, he would have to look at me while he heard the evidence.
"I'll
