Mrs. Rivers rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek, brushing away a tear that had already dried into a faint salty track. She shifted forward on the sofa, opening her knees slightly, elbows planted on her thighs as she dropped her head into her hands. Her bare breasts hung forward with the motion, shoulders curved in exhaustion.
The warm, heavy air of the room clung to all of us, thick with the mingled scents of skin.
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence, broken only by Bagins' ragged breathing—the raw, triumphant gasps of a man who had carried poison for weeks and had finally vomited it out.
[You did what needed to be done.]
Shut up for a second.
"How dare you." Bagins wasn't finished. His voice cracked with fury. "You walk into a sacred house and do the one thing the president cannot forgive. Liars."
