The carpet was damp beneath his knees. Cole could feel the moisture seeping through the fabric of his pants, the cold, wet fibers pressing against his skin. The smell of rain was everywhere, carried on the wind that howled through the broken window. He could feel the shards of glass digging into his palms, the sharp edges cutting into his flesh. He could taste the copper of his own blood, the metallic tang coating his tongue.
Elias stood in the doorway, his silhouette dark against the dim light. His hands were at his sides, empty. His face was calm, unreadable. He looked like a man who had already won.
"Get up," Elias said. "We need to talk."
Cole's hands were trembling. He could feel the weight of his father's words pressing down on him. He could feel the weight of the truth, the weigh
