She was still wearing that watch, though. There was no hiding that massive thing on her slender wrist.
When she didn’t say anything, I cleared my throat. “I have your dinner.”
She swallowed hard, looking ravenously at the tray.
“Right. Yes. Thank you.” She opened the door a little wider, reaching for the food.
I grimaced, stepping back. “It’s heavy.”
Her face hardened. “I can handle it.”
I wasn’t sure why I hesitated. She obviously wasn’t one to be helped, but I couldn’t stop studying her. She seemed smaller, somehow, without her sharp heels and crisp clothes. She looked more like the perplexed woman I’d found in the library and less like the lawyer who had me on the stand.
Her freshly cut bangs were parted slightly, showing some of the bandage on her forehead.
“How’s your head?” The words were out before I could stop them.
A flush of pink crept up her neck. I couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or anger, but there was something else there too. Something that eluded me before I could pluck it out and examine it.
“Concerned, Doctor?” she asked, almost mocking. “Be careful, you wouldn’t want anyone knowing that. It seems I’m quite the pariah around town already.”
Her lip curled in an attempt at a smile, but the tension rolling off her gave her away. The bravado fell flat.
My eyes narrowed, and she stiffened.
It wasn’t surprising that rumors were being spread about the defense, but Quinn had been in town less than a day. Even for Ember Hollow, that was fast.
What had happened that made her so convinced she was already an outcast?
A pressure bloomed inside my chest, but I ignored it. It wasn’t my business.
“That man has terrorized this town for far too long,” I said, voice low. “It’s not about you, really. It’s about him.”
She held my gaze a beat, but then looked away. “I’m tired.”
I hesitated once more at the sudden sadness in her tone. Questions brewed inside my mind, but I didn’t ask them. I shouldn’t want to.
It was time for me to go.
“Enjoy your dinner.” I pushed the tray into her arms.
I made sure she had a good hold on it before letting go, but then I turned quickly.
I was almost to the stairs when her door slammed behind me, and the flip of the lock echoed through the hall.
Theroomhummedwithunease before anyone even spoke. Every Tuesday, for the past two years, I had volunteered for a local support group for survivors of trauma. This town had seen its fair share of it throughout the years.
We met in the basement of the local library, but it felt different tonight. The place was cozy enough—string lights hung along the walls, a pot of coffee filled the air with a roasted, sweet aroma, and a steady electric hum came from the fake fireplace in the corner. Normally, the atmosphere helped the members feel safe and secure.
But the tension was almost measurable tonight, despite it all. I recognized the tight shoulders, shallow breathing, and restless hands. Fear had a way of settling into people’s bodies long before it reached their words.
I counted seven people in the circle, excluding myself. Regulars, all of them. Some clutched Styrofoam cups, steam wafting from the top. Others kept their arms folded tight across their chests.
For weeks now, the trial date had loomed ahead of us, but now it felt more like a countdown. The date on the calendar was starting to look less like a mark in time and more like an ending. People had come tonight because they were unraveling, and I was here because unraveling people still needed order.
“This week’s been rough,” I said, giving them the neutral opening they expected. I wasn’t here as their therapist or counselor—just as a facilitator. A volunteer.
“Does anyone want to start?”
