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I don’t say it.
I don’t have to.
Scout’s voice is steady when she speaks.
“He’s not done.”
“No,” I agree quietly.
I glance at her.
Then back to Boone.
“Neither are we.”
24
Scout
Noise used to be dangerous.
Not loud, crashing danger.
Not the kind you run from.
The quieter kind.
The kind that lived in expressions.
In silence that stretched too long.
In the way my mother would look at me when I forgot.
Don’t be so loud, Scout.
Not yelled.
Never yelled.
That would have been easier.
Just—
That look.
Sharp. Disappointed. Final.
I learned early.
Soft voices.
Measured words.
No sudden reactions.
No taking up too much space.
It made life… smoother.
