“Forty-eight hours" turned into filings, and filings turned into delays with polite names.
“Continuance," Rowan said.
“Coordination," Crispin added.
Miriam rubbed her temple. “Cowardice, today," she muttered, too low for the transcript.
Outside the chamber, Kevin paced the length of a hallway lined with portraits of men who'd never waited for anything. “He's stalling," he said.
“He's practicing," I said. “He thinks time is a leash."
“Not on you."
“Not anymore."
—
I moved into the apartment fully. Boxes emptied. Rugs decided they belonged to me. The canal learned my footsteps. Sometimes I woke with my hand already reaching for the knife in the nightstand because the jungle had built reflex into bone. Mostly, I slept.
Jones texted from numbers that changed too often. “Talk." “Break
