The morning after my meeting with the whistleblower, I woke earlier than usual. Not in the jolted, restless way that used to pull me out of sleep in the middle of bad seasons, but in a slow and deliberate way, as if my mind had decided I needed a head start. The room was still dim, the curtains only letting in a thin line of pale light. Julian was still asleep, one arm thrown over my side, breathing steady.

I stayed there for a while, staring at the ceiling and thinking about her. The way ...