Larissa's POV
I stared at the folder in Carson's outstretched hand, my heart hammering against my ribs. Every instinct screamed at me to walk away, to maintain what little dignity I had left.
But my father's face flashed in my mind. The way he'd looked smaller in his hospital bed recently, the fear in my mother's eyes when the doctors discussed treatment options.
I snatched the folder from him.
"This doesn't mean anything," I said, my voice sharper than intended. "I'm just... I'm being thorough."
"Of course." Carson's tone was maddeningly neutral, as if my internal struggle was merely mildly interesting to observe.
I clutched the folder against my chest like armor. "I'll review it and give you my answer tomorrow."
"Take your time."
His calm certainty that I'd cave made my teeth clench. I spun toward the door, desperate to escape before I said something I'd regret.
"Larissa."
I stopped but didn't turn. "What?"
