On the ancient couch, Lila sat by herself, wrapped in a rough yet cozy wool blanket that smelled of cedar and ages. Her anxious fingers had worn down the smooth plastic surface of the stolen flash drive, which she was holding tightly. In an attempt to make sense of the digital horrors it held, she had been holding it for hours on end and turning it over and over like a rosary bead.
Not only was she grieving over what she had lost, but the crushing weight of knowing now was also causing her eyes to swell. being aware of her father's true nature behind the façade of respectability and paternal authority. being aware of the harm he had caused to her, Thomas James, and their family. Even worse was the knowledge that deep within the scarred parts of her heart, she still harbored the slightest
