"She is not supposed to be here."
Julian says it low, almost to himself. He stares through the windshield at Camille standing outside the chapel doors. His voice does not carry anger. It carries something closer to dread.
Nathaniel cuts the headlights. The car goes dark. We sit still on the river road, engine barely humming.
Camille has not moved. She stands with her arms crossed and her back straight. She is not tied up. She is not crying. She looks nothing like the terrified woman on that video screen. She looks like she is waiting for something she arranged herself.
My stomach drops quietly.
"She was never a hostage," I say.
Nobody argues with me.
I think back to the video. Her hands were tied with a white rope. Her silent tears. Aunt Mary was standing calmly behind her. It was t
