"You don't understand," Zoe rasped out, her voice constricted with a potent mixture of rage and anguish. "You can't just dredge up...that past...those memories..."
She seemed to be teetering on the verge of some profound internal collapse, like the mere allusion to her college betrayal had sent her hurtling back through decades of meticulously constructed scar tissue.
I held up both hands in a gesture of surrender, dimly aware of nearby hotel patrons starting to shoot us uneasy looks. "I know, I know it seems unthinkable right now. Believe me, if you could see your own face, you'd understand why I need to tread carefully here."
Tom made a small, abortive move toward Zoe, clearly distressed by her unraveling, but I shot him a quelling glance. This was a precipice I needed to navigate alo
