AMELIA
I stared at Conrad, my gaze still. His expression shifted, faint but noticeable. “I mean, what if Mr Pierre's death wasn't natural," I repeated, my voice as low as a whisper. “What will you do then?"
His shoulders tensed. He turned his back to me, walking to his drawer, the first aid kit in his hand.
“I won't care," he said, his tone flat, as though he was reciting a line from a script. “He's already dead, so why will I bother?"
The words landed like a stone on my chest. Yet, I could hear the faint crack in his voice as he spoke. How unsure he was of his words. He was in denial. Clearly.
I stood, my feet unsteady on the floor. “Thank you," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
He didn't respond or turned to look at me. He simply nodded once then entered the bathroom, closi
