Chapter 5: The Plan

Dylan came home while I was still holding the folder.

I heard the front door and then his keys in the bowl, the same small sounds he had made every evening for five years.

"Nina?"

I stayed in the study doorway.

Sam had gone down with Marco to load the truck.

It was only me and the man who had hung my degree on his wall.

He saw the folder and stopped in the hall.

"You went through my desk."

"It was open." I held up the last page. "You wrote Agreed."

His face did something I hadn't seen before. It went slack.

"Give me that."

"No."

He took a breath. Then he did what he always did, which was to be gentle.

"Let me make you something to eat," he said. "You haven't had anything since Saturday. I'll make shakshuka."

"Dylan."

"Please." He was already walking to the kitchen. "Come sit with me. We'll talk."

I followed him because I wanted to see him do it.

He took out the pan.

He set it on the induction cooktop he had installed the week after the fire.

It had no flame to light.

His hands knew the recipe by heart. Onions. Peppers. Cumin from the jar I'd refilled.

"It was supposed to help you," he said to the pan. "That's all."

He stirred the onions.

"Lydia has worked with people like you. She said you were trapped in the fear."

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