I don’t remember standing. I only remember the sound of my chair dragging—slow and scraping—against the old stone floor as I rose to my feet with a kind of terrible clarity, like my body had moved before my thoughts caught up. Ingrid had just said something about getting in and then—
“I did.”
I could feel the blood drain from my face. Feel the quiet thrum of disbelief curdle into something darker. Heavier. A stormcloud slow-building behind my ribs.
“You what?” I said, and the words didn’t come out loud—they came out low. Dangerous. The kind of low that felt like it should be followed by a tremor in the ground or a window shattering somewhere in the distance.
Ingrid took a breath like she was about to explain herself.
" It wasn't my fault"
“What did you say?” I asked, even though I’d
