(Rebecca's POV)
The elevator hums.
My hands won't stop. I press them flat against my thighs the way I've trained them — the way I've always trained them — but the shaking has its own schedule now. It moves through my fingers, my wrists, up into my forearms where the eczema scars are still rough under my sleeves.
I watch the floor numbers drop. Twelve. Eleven. Ten.
Sean's voice is still in my ears. Italic, branded there. Have you lost your mind? Apologize right now. Don't show your face here tomorrow.
I lean my head against the elevator wall. Cool metal against my temple. I listen to the echo of it — the roar, the fury, the command — and I wait for the part of me that always gets injured by his words.
It stays quiet.
Nine. Eight.
So quiet, it leaves me in a daze.
Seven. Six.
He sh
