Chapter Fifteen
Lincoln twisted in the sheets. He'd been in bed for two hours at least, his ears straining to hear every sigh, rustle, and whisper from the next room. All was silent after the first fifteen minutes, but still he couldn't sleep.
Dinner had been odd. Lincoln didn't have chairs for his table, which was a worktable anyway, not a dining table. He didn't have a dining table. But Kali did. She set it up in the far end of the kitchen, cramped against a wall. With only two chairs, she insisted on standing through the meal. Eventually, at Lincoln's urging, she perched on the kitchen counter. The fact that they were at the table at all felt strange. On the couch, staring out the window, was where he ate. Or, if he was in a particular mood, standing at the window.
The dinner was the
