Chapter 9: Two Hands

Dojin set the porridge down and pulled a chair over from the next desk.

He didn't say anything until I did.

"It was Toby's rent," I said. "Colson paid it, and I'm going to find out what else he paid for."

I said it out loud and it sounded worse than it had in my head.

Dojin folded his hands between his knees.

"Your brother knew," he said. "And he took the money."

"Every month."

"That is a very low price for a sister."

I laughed, once, because it was exactly the right sentence.

Then my eyes stung, and I looked out the window until they stopped.

He pushed the bowl an inch closer to me.

"Eat three bites," he said. "Then we will decide whether you are sad or angry."

I ate three bites.

"Angry," I said.

"Good. Angry people finish the sprint."

At seven, the whole team dragged me to dinner.

It was a tent on a side street with orange tarps and plastic stools, the kind of place the guidebooks warn you about and the locals refuse to leave.

The woman in the red glasses pulled me onto the stool beside her.

"The rule," she announced, "is that you don't pour your own drink."

"Why?"

"Because then you're alone."

She poured mine.

I poured hers back with one hand, and she slapped the air in front of my wrist.

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