They walked on, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the distant hum of their environment. Annabelle kept her hand in his, her thumb tracing small, soothing circles against his skin. She could feel the tension in him, the way his body seemed to hum with unspoken thoughts. But her mind was elsewhere, too. Smith’s words clung to her like a burr, prickling and persistent. "Why does everyone seem to think Derek's hiding something?" The question gnawed at her, but she pushed it down, hard. “No. I trust him. I have to. He’s my husband.” She straightened her shoulders, her grip on his hand firming. Whatever Smith thought he knew, it didn’t matter. She’d stand by Derek. Always.
Derek, for his part, kept his face calm, his steps even. The cane in his hand was a prop, a shield, a lie. But it
