I called him on a Wednesday morning, from my office, between a case review and a department meeting, because the decision I had made at Ethan’s kitchen table three nights ago was not going to hold if I gave it too much space to breathe. Decisions made in the right direction needed to be acted on before the fear that lived adjacent to them found its footing.
He answered on the second ring.
“Seraphina.” His voice, careful, the particular quality it had taken on since the midnight visit, stripped of the boardroom register, not softer exactly, but less armored.
“I’m going to allow a meeting,” I said. “With Ethan. One meeting, supervised, on terms I set entirely, and I need you to hear all of them before you say anything.”
A pause. Not hesitation, something more like a man organizing himsel
