Early afternoon sunlight streamed through the hospital windows with an aggressiveness that seemed almost cruel, illuminating the ward in harsh, unforgiving detail. It was around noon now, and Bishop was awake—fully awake this time—propped up in his hospital bed and taking what could only be described as a verbal evisceration from Morissette, who stood at the foot of his bed with tears streaming down her face, her voice raw with emotion.
"Five years, Bishop! Five goddamn years!" she shouted, her hands gesturing wildly. "I gave you five years of my life, and I don't even know your real name! Who does that? Who builds a relationship on a foundation of lies and expects it to stand?"
Bishop lay there unable to mount any real defense, his eyes occasionally glancing at Marius, who stood near th
