“You’re moving slowly because dear daughter fucked up and now you’re both scared.”

“What did you do, Amy?” Sveta asked.

“It’s being handled.”

“What happened?”

“It’s handled.”

“Leave it,” Rain said. “It’s not worth it. Even if it’s not handled, there’s nothing we can do.”

“It’s eating me alive to imagine what happened and I can only imagine what it’s like for Victoria. The unknown is worse.”

“And it’s all we get. Accept the things we can’t change,” Rain said.

“It’s handled,” Amy said, repeating words that would echo in my head for weeks now.

I couldn’t. I could have swung a punch if there was someone in range. I almost punched the glass. That would have been dramatic. Instead, I turned, and I saw Sveta. Ashley stood beside her.

I couldn’t breathe, so I started simpler. I couldn’t not have a heartbeat, and the heart gave my lungs oxygen. I couldn’t not be feeling the humid warmth in the air of this room, see the blue hue of snow piled up against the glass, with parts left snow-free for sun to shine through. I couldn’t not hear the muffled echo of translators speaking in their crisp, foreign tongues.

I wanted to say I couldn’t not stand up straight, stay centered with my own sense of balance, but the reality was that I could see a world where I toppled, bowled over by the sheer unpleasantness of all of this.

Nobody was talking. There was so much to say, and there was only silence and tension. Bitterness.

I reached out for the exterior window, touching glass that had snow on the far side. I traced a finger along and drew in the moisture. A circle. I blotted out the interior. The cold, moisture, and the touch helped ground me.

I’d wanted to come because I had to face my demons, like Sveta had faced hers. Like Ashley had done when she threw down the gauntlet for Gary Nieves.

In my desire to be anywhere else I looked at the window. No escalation, no changes.

I wanted to see, to hear, to—

Instinct told me to look at Kenzie.

Her head bobbed slightly like she was listening to music. But it wasn’t music. I could time the motions to the cadence and rhythm of speech in the other room.

I put my hand on her head to stop the bobbing. The motion made my injury twinge. Her hair pressed close to the scalp by a hairband, left open and hanging free at the back of her head. She wore a hairpin as part of the hairband, that was a ‘club’ from the deck of cards. I wanted to ask why. I didn’t want to try to speak and fail.

Kenzie moved her head, my hand still atop it, and leaned against my side.