Caleb’s P.O.V

I watched my father closely, my arms crossed, leaning against the doorway of the morgue where he stood, pacing back and forth like a lion in a cage. The light from the morgue streamed through the cracked door, illuminating the tension in the creases of his forehead and the stiffness of his jaw. He hadn’t spoken in over five minutes, not since my question shattered the remaining calm in the atmosphere. I could see the storm building in his eyes. He was trying not to ...