Emma:
The end of November came in a whirlwind, the investigation into Wright and my supposed relationship ended in our favor, and because of what I had done, because of me hiring Cornelius, and the proof I provided on my own behalf, it had ended quickly… but now… now he hated me, and it showed every class.
As he did today, Wright set his worn leather satchel on the desk with measured care. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater—navy today, fraying at the cuffs—and turned to the board. The chalk screeched as he wrote a single word in block letters.
BETRAYAL
The sound lodged in my chest.
“Betrayal,” he began, voice even, controlled, the way a man speaks when he has decided emotion is a luxury he can no longer afford. “One of the most enduring themes in literature. Not because it’s dram
