Noumenon found a chair adjacent the bed he was occupying. She was cautious around him, afraid that he’d try something silly early in the morning while he was in utter disbelief. The weight of her sentence was almost too superficial to comprehend. He wanted to grab her, to shake sense into her, to unravel the madness that compelled her to utter such things. To him, it was impossible. Her words couldn’t be taken seriously.
“Oh, really?” he snapped, his voice rising with incredulity. “Did he tell you how he killed my sister? Or about the several others that he’s ki—”
“No, he hasn’t,” she interjected sharply, her tone unwavering, her eyes locked onto his. “Manica Diamond is my father, Lieutenant.”
Her confession hit him like a freight train, the gravity of her words settling in his chest. H
