Rosalie's POV:
Jerold, of course, was completely deaf to my words.
He merely leaned against the wooden frame, his shoulders heaving with violent, silent sobs.
Further down the corridor, the heavy door to the interrogation room opened and clicked shut.
Judith was weeping inside.
But this time, she wasn't crying to perform for an audience.
The detectives were making her weep.
Looking down at Jerold's broken figure, I suddenly felt the lingering embers of my hatred begin to fade.
Consuming myself with anger was simply too exhausting, and I no longer wished to carry that burden.
I turned away, drifting effortlessly through the solid wall of the room and floating toward the end of the hall.
The interrogation room door was locked tight, but I didn't need to worry about that anymor
