Knox moved toward me, as usual, with the grace of someone who was either about to murder someone or offer them a drink. Honestly, with Knox, you could never quite tell.

His every step was quiet, controlled, and, of course, perfectly timed, as though he was walking to the beat of some invisible drum only he could hear. He sat down beside me, his usual stoic mask softening slightly as he reached out.

Without a word, he brushed his hand across my forehead, checking for a temperature ...