Tobias Prescott's facility was two hours from Malibu.
Lucian drove.
He had listened to the information about Tobias's request on Monday evening with the specific, receptive stillness he brought to information that required time before responding. He had not reacted immediately and he had not dismissed it. He had sat with it overnight and on Tuesday morning had said, over coffee: "I'll go."
I looked at him.
"Not because I forgive him," he said. "Not because what he says will change anything material. But because a man who has read the same article I have read and understands now what the war between us actually was, and who has something to say about it, deserves to be heard." He paused. "I would want to be heard if the positions were reversed."
"Do you want me to come?" I said.
He wa
