In the Time We Still Have
"Complicated?" she repeated, her tone dry and acrid. "Yes, I recall. You disappeared during dinner, Leon."
Her gaze held his, firm and waiting. She wasn't shouting yet—but the calm tone had a more piercing quality than rage. Disappointment colored her words, cold and unmistakable. And that was worse.
She folded her arms, stance changing just enough to indicate her patience thinning. "So now," she said, "first of all—tell me. Where did you go, exactly? You left your wives behind like afterthoughts. Do you know how that seemed?"
The words hit harder than she meant them to, but she didn't retract them.
Leon opened his mouth, then shut it again, unsure how to begin. For a man who had faced blades and bloodshed without flinching, he looked unusually hesitant now. His fingers raked once through his hair as if searching for clarity.
This wasn't a court argument or a political maneuver. This was Nova.
And with Nova, the truth mattered.
